


Ever Constant

by ladyamesindy



Series: Dragon Age: Family Constants [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-15 09:44:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 116
Words: 331,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyamesindy/pseuds/ladyamesindy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - Boy meets girl. Boy loses girl due to ambitious father and spends Blight looking for her. Girl becomes Grey Warden & saves Ferelden from Blight. Adventure, Drama & more than a bit of Romance. Nathaniel Howe/Bryallyn Cousland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this story for a couple of years now and I'm barely past halfway. I DO intend to finish it. I've had it posted over on another site, but finally decided to bring it over here to share as well.

On the day of his birth, a raging storm roared in from the sea. This in itself was not unusual, but this particular storm was the worst that had been seen in the region for centuries. The birth was a difficult one for the mother as well, who passed him off immediately to the nanny, Adria. Throughout his childhood, his mother would often compare the color of his eyes with the clouds of that storm, usually right before walking away from him and out of the room.

On the day of her birth, there was a storm that buried the region with a thick blanket of snow unlike anything that had been seen in anyone's lifetime. Though the wind howled and the temperatures dropped to depths never seen before, warmth and joy and celebration rang out from within the castle. Her father was present at her birth, taking the tiny blanket-wrapped bundle that was his daughter and snuggling her close while the women saw to his wife. The nanny, appropriately named Nan, brought in her older brother who seemed almost afraid of her at first, until her eyes opened and locked onto his gaze. And her mother held her family close, savoring the joy that family could bring, knowing all too well how fleeting it could be.

As he grew, he worked his hardest to please both of his parents, but discovered in the end that his mother was never pleased with him at all. With his father he was able to find some sort of tacit approval and acknowledgement. His younger brother seemed to find the proper balance though, leaving only his sister with whom he could find acceptance, tolerance and comfort. In the end, even this was taken from him when at age twelve, he was sent to South Reach, to Arl Leonas Bryland, to squire. At first, he was angry, defiant, and he saw something in his father's eyes ...  _pride_  ... at his reaction. But after a short time under the Arl's tutelage, he grew to like his new home, the soldiers with whom he served, and even the Arl himself. On the rare occasion that he would go home, or see his family, he felt the distance between him and his mother continuing to grow, although his father seemed pleased enough with his progress.

As she grew, she would follow her brother everywhere, trailing after him as if she was the mabari he had always said he would have preferred over her *****. As she aged, she came to understand his annoyance with her, particularly when he was with his friends. However, the day she was seven and he was twelve, the day that they were in the town to celebrate Satinalia and she saw what others did not ... and saved her older brother's life was the day that he begged his father to allow her to train with her father's men. The family and the entire town discovered that day, as she chased after the men trying to kidnap her one true hero, that she had a connection to the beasts and the birds that could not be denied. As she ran, she called for help and was rewarded with replies from two dogs, a cat and an falcon, all of whom attacked the abductors so that she could get her sibling to safety. The adversaries were apprehended shortly thereafter, and justice was served.

He was an adult now, but unmarried and as such his father required his presence with the family at the palace in Denerim. King Maric had gone missing, sailing off to sea and disappearing forever, presumed dead. He was in Denerim, in the service of Arl Bryland, but his lord had allowed him the opportunity to stay with his family. Had encouraged it, actually, much to his displeasure. For, as he had grown, his relationship with his mother had become continuously strained, and even now at times he wondered if his father really approved of him or not. He found himself wondering sometimes just how he could be related to them. And now the woman who was his mother by birth, if not by choice, was preaching at him yet again about some minor transgression, something of which he was not personally aware not having lived with them for so long, and only by sheer chance had his father entered the fray and taken on the anger and wrath meant for him. Knowing it was cowardly, and not really caring other than to divorce himself from the situation, he left the apartments and began looking for refuge ...

She was an adult now, but unmarried. She had grown up training with her father's men, his lone ranger amongst a sea of warriors, but she was still his Pup. She didn't mind, even when her older brother, now a father in his own right, would occasionally call her that. She had been saddened at the loss of the king, having met him upon occasion and felt a kinship with the man that had to do more with personality than blood. For days following the news, she had roamed the cliffs of her home, staring out at the Waking Sea in the hopes that he might suddenly reappear. But she knew that he wouldn't. So when it came time to head for Denerim, for the memorial to wish the old king goodbye and the coronation and wedding of the new king, Maric's son Cailan, she had made the long trip with her family. But she was not one for salons, or tea parties or meetings or casual gossip. She was at home with the animals, with nature. At peace when surrounded by the wilds. Her mother often teased her for her preference in such things, but given her expertise, she did not complain too loud, too often, nor too seriously.

The timing was set, the heavens aligned and fortunes were all in place. The meeting was one that would change the future of Ferelden, all of Thedas for that matter. Two would meet, become one and then torn asunder ... but throughout it all would remain one ever constant thread holding it all together ...


	2. In The Garden

Nathaniel knew he should count himself lucky as he walked along the hall leading towards the palace gardens. All things considered, he had escaped the latest confrontation with his mother virtually unscathed thanks to his father, Arl Rendon Howe. He knew that he was fortunate because that woman could really rant and rave when she got herself worked up which, as he knew from a lifetime of experience, was almost constant. Nathaniel found himself wondering more and more often of late how it was possible that he could be the Arlessa's son. They were so different in personalities, in temperament. Sighing, Nathaniel turned down the last hall leading to his destination. He needed to stop reflecting on why it had happened and simply enjoy the time alone because he knew it would be all too short.

He entered into the royal gardens by exiting through the doors at the back of the palace and then turning left. The area was massive, extending from the palace southwards, almost reaching the city walls in the south. In addition to that, they ran east to west, encompassing many acres of land, walled off of course, and containing a variety of types of flowers, trees and animals. All in all, Nathaniel found it to be a very restful and relaxing place, relatively unused as well, so that when he would come here he could often find the peace and quiet he sought out.

Today as he entered, he took a deep breath, enjoying the sights, sounds and smells of his surroundings.  _This_  was what he had needed, he realized. Though raised in a large and busy keep, Nathaniel actually found himself very uncomfortable when in the city, particularly the large capital city of Denerim. He felt closed in, crowded, almost suffocated each time they visited. About ten years before, he had discovered the royal gardens by accident, a place that made the rest of the city melt away and he could feel almost as if he was at home again ...

And then he heard ... something. Nathaniel paused on his walk into the main part of the garden, thinking about the sound. It had sounded natural, and yet ...? His instincts kicking in, he shifted to the shadows and began searching the area nearby. If he was not alone, that would be fine. He could understand the draw of the peace that the gardens offered all too well. But there had been ... _something_  about the noise that had not been ... right ...

A few moments later Nathaniel was beginning to convince himself that he had heard nothing, that his mind had simply been playing tricks on him, when the soft voice drifted along on the wind once more. "... nothing to worry about now. Things will be right as rain soon enough ..."

Turning, he began walking down a stone path leading towards a grouping of trees. When he came to another crossroads, he stopped again, listening ... and then he was hit by the concentrated scent of honeysuckle and lavender ... just before a blur of tan and burgundy tumbled out of the branches above and landed in a graceful crouch at his feet. Slightly startled, he felt himself react automatically; his lithe frame drawing into a slight bend at the waist, his stance shifting back a step to give him room to step into his opponent if necessary, and his hands moving to the hilts of his daggers ...

Bryallyn landed upon her feet, crouched low to the ground. As she shifted to rise, she became aware of the darker presence beside her, one most definitely male ... and definitely prepared to battle. Tossing back her dark curls away from her face, tilting her head upwards in his direction, she took a slow, deep breath; shuttered her eyes just slightly to help herself focus and began whispering softly, feeling the words taking power and shape around her.

Nathaniel swallowed a gasp as he realized that the form in front of him was a girl ...  _No,_  he realized as she slowly rose to her feet, standing tall before him,  _definitely a woman with curves like that._  His battle-ready stance eased just a bit at this realization, though he understood well enough that plenty of excellent soldiers in the realm these days were women. Several of those with whom he served in Arl Bryland's army were of the female persuasion. A moment later, he was distracted from his thoughts when he noticed a small falcon landing upon her gloved fist as she stood in front of him, proudly, weaponless, her greenish-brown eyes filled with confidence. Straightening once more, Nathaniel completely eased his lithe frame into a relaxed but defensive position.

Bryallyn surveyed the man in front of her as she had risen to her full height. She found herself curious: his eyes were a stormy grey, filled with a brooding gloom and creases from worry lines; lips that were generous in size but very masculine (lips she could envision many a nobles' daughter sighing and swooning over); a strong noble chin clear of facial hair; a forehead with evidence of worry lines, but nothing too severe, and a nose ...  _Oh you poor unfortunate man!_  she thought silently.  _To be burdened with such an unfortunate beak ..._  Bryallyn frowned mentally. His profile reminded her of someone, but she could not place it at the moment. Turning her attention to the animal perched upon her outstretched hand, she whispered her thanks to her avian friend and sent him on his way. Once he had cleared her glove, leaving her alone, Bryallyn spoke. "I am sorry if I startled you."

Blinking twice, Nathaniel finally realized that her unexpected voice was lilting, lovely and seemed to fit in with the usual sounds of the garden: the whisper of the wind, the trilling bird song, the rustling of branches and leaves. "No harm done," he finally managed as he watched her flip a long, thick, dark chestnut colored braid over her shoulder. "Though," he added with a small smile, "I feel compelled to ask why you suddenly appeared by dropping out of a tree."

Bryallyn grinned suddenly, the smile reaching to the depths of her eyes. "That, my lord, is a rather long and complicated story," she told him, watching closely for his response.

Nathaniel smiled back, feeling an immediate pull to this woman and unsure as to why. "I have the time if you would like to share, my lady," he returned, adopting the same formality she had used. His defensive stance now completely gone, he offered her his arm, gesturing to the path in front of them. Bryallyn tilted her head in acknowledgement at him, sliding her arm through his as they began to walk. Before they had managed more than a few steps, Nathaniel told her, his voice deep and raspy, "I am Nathaniel, by the way."

Bryallyn blushed. "My apologies for my lack of manners," she responded demurely. "My name is Bryallyn." She watched him digest that. She was used to looks of confusion at the pronunciation. "But, you may call me Bry, if you like."

"Which do you prefer?" he asked in response.

Bryallyn laughed. "I prefer to think my friends and family are at ease enough with me to call me Bry," she responded, "but, alas, not many do."

"Then I shall have to remedy that ... Bry."

She glanced up at his face and saw that he was smiling. She noted that his thick dark brown hair was blowing freely in the breeze, though it reached only near chin-length, he had portions pulled back, including two small braids the met and blended in the back. Taking a deep breath, she murmured, "About what you saw back there ..."

Nathaniel listened over the next little while as Bryallyn described what had occurred. "My family and I were leaving an audience with the king and queen and returning to our apartments when I was ...," she glanced up at him and whispered seriously, "do not laugh at this!"

Nathaniel swallowed a chuckle. "I wouldn't dream of it my lady!" he promised sincerely.

Bryallyn read the mirth in his eyes and eased back into her soft smile as he managed to contain his amusement for her benefit. "I know it sounds crazy, Nathaniel, but I was 'called' to the gardens. As I knew my afternoon was free, I excused myself from my parents, and made my way here. When I first arrived, I simply began walking around," she gestured with her free arm, encompassing the large area that made up the royal gardens, "quite unsure of what had called me, of where I might find whatever it was. It did not take long, however, before I found my way to the trees back there where we ... met."

Nathaniel was beginning to suspect what she was not telling him. "And what did you find when you arrived?" he queried politely. He spotted a bench in front of them and led her to it, waiting for her to be seated before moving beside her.

"It was a baby Ferelden red-breasted falcon, the offspring of the one you saw fly to me," she explained as she watched and admired his graceful movements while he seated himself. "I calmed the larger bird, as well as the baby, and determined that the little one had fallen out of the nest." She saw the unspoken question in his eyes. With a sheepish grin, she added, "Yes, it had injured itself, but I ... carry small health potions with me, on my person, constantly. Just for these types of situations ..."

"Ahh," Nathaniel breathed as he suddenly understood. "This has happened before. You must be a ranger then." He saw her blush darken at his words, and he reached out to squeeze her hand gently. "Your secret is safe with me!" he promised.

Bryallyn laughed. "It's not so much a secret," she told him earnestly. "Actually, it's more that -"

"Bryallyn Theresia Cousland, where are you?"

Bryallyn groaned softly, her gaze snapping to her companion's. "Maker's breath!" she hissed softly. "Mother!" Rising to her feet quickly, she reached into the pocket of her pants.

Nathaniel rose beside her, thinking perhaps at first she was afraid of being caught alone with him in the gardens, unchaperoned. But then she was facing him again, placing something in his hand and closing his fingers over it. "Please, Nathaniel," she begged, "will you dispose of this for me? My mother doesn't mind my rangering skills, but she does get rather put out when I use our health potions to heal the animals!"

Nathaniel murmured, "Of course," just as he lifted his eyes to see an older woman approaching; one he recognized all too easily, and one whom Bryallyn definitely resembled in her facial features. Surreptitiously sliding the offending vial into his own pocket as Bryallyn turned to face her mother, Nathaniel said in greeting, "Your Grace, how good to see you again."

Eleanor Cousland eyed her daughter's companion as she joined the couple, placing him almost immediately. "You are Nathaniel Howe? Rendon's son, are you not?"

Nathaniel nodded respectfully. "Yes, your Grace."

"Mother," Bryallyn interrupted as her earlier impression of him finally hit home, "I'm sorry if I'm late, but -"

"The apologies are mine to make, I'm afraid," Nathaniel cut in quickly. "I was out here wandering around, when I came upon Bryallyn. I engaged her in an intellectual debate on several of the plants in the garden, and I must say, I learned quite a bit from a very knowledgeable source." Nathaniel placed his hand at Bryallyn's shoulder, squeezing it gently before she could step away, encouraging her to follow his lead.

"Yes, ... just so," Bryallyn agreed after a moment's hesitation.

Eleanor gave both young people a hard look, barely able to hide her smile at their inventiveness. "Bryallyn, we will be leaving for the ball in a few hours. You need to come and ready yourself." She heard her daughter's sigh of frustration and softened. "Say good bye to your friend and then come along."

"Yes, mother." Bryallyn watched Eleanor Cousland leave before turning back to Nathaniel while shaking her head and muttering softly, "... to my friend indeed!" Lifting her gaze to his once more, she asked, "Will you be attending the king and queen's coronation ball this evening?"

Nathaniel groaned softly, but nodded. "Unfortunately, I will be," he returned, "though I had forgotten about it until just now. I should be returning to prepare as well."  _This ought to give Mother yet something else to rant about._

Bryallyn smiled. Reaching out, she gave his now empty hand a squeeze. "Thank you, Nathaniel," she told him, holding his stormy gaze. "For the conversation and for the ... cover up."

Nathaniel did chuckle this time. "Far be it from me to keep a lady in distress when I can do something to resolve the matter," he murmured. Lifting her hand, he kissed her knuckles before giving her a knowing wink. "Though," he added, "I did not realize at the time that the lady in distress was the Lady Cousland."

Bryallyn blushed again, pulling her hand from his. "Yes, well ... please don't let that get around," she returned in an exaggerated whisper. "Reputation and all that!"

Nathaniel laughed and began walking with her towards the entrance to the palace. "May I look for you this evening?" he asked. "I have enjoyed our conversation and would like to continue it if you are of a mind to."

She nodded slightly and smiled in return. Then with a quick wave, she murmured, "See you this evening!" before darting off towards the Cousland family apartments.


	3. Coronation Ball

Bryallyn remained in the back of the ballroom, near the shadows, where it was easier for her to move quickly and keep away from most of the nobles' sons who were searching her out. She hated being the highest ranking unmarried daughter in the kingdom now as it seemed to have placed a target on her back that all nobles' sons of a certain age were aiming for, all in hopes of fulfilling their parents' dreams... Though she refused to play those games, she still had that invisible target upon her ... Swallowing quietly, she spied another boy turning towards her and she began moving yet again.  _Oh no you don't!_

Then from across the chamber, she saw him. He was dressed in black trousers, his tunic blue shot with black and silver, colors that emphasized his ruggedly handsome features.  _Nathaniel_ , she thought, her eyes catching his across the room. She could see a query in the stormy depths, even from this distance, and she found herself smiling with relief. When he nodded slightly towards one of the doorways towards the south side of the palace, she gave him an answering head movement and began making her way in that direction. Sticking to the shadows, for there were still too many unoccupied nobles' sons at this function for her comfort, Bryallyn soon found herself slipping outside into the darkness of the night.

The palace ballroom was on the south side of the building and contained huge glass windows opening out towards the gardens. However, in the evening, with the lighting concentrated on the inside of the room where the festivities were centered, the shadows outside began almost immediately upon stepping onto the grass that began just feet from the doorway.

Nathaniel reached the garden first, waiting for her in the shadows. When he saw her slip out of the doorway, her deep, dark green dress nearly as dark as the shadows surrounding her save for the shots of sliver that ran throughout the hem and sleeves, he reached for her hand, grasping it unerringly in his larger hand and tugging slightly until she stood beside him. He realized that he'd pulled just a bit too hard when he heard her soft laugh, almost a giggle really, and she placed a hand upon his chest to keep from falling over. Moving quickly, he slid a hand to her waist to hold her steady. "Sorry," he murmured.

"No," she replied, her smile evident in her tone of voice, "not necessary."

Nathaniel began leading her further away from the building, just enough so that they could have quiet, privacy, and not have to worry about any movement catching any undue attention from inside the ballroom. They sat on a nearby bench, relaxing in the quietness surrounding them. "What was that you were doing?" he queried after a moment as they settled themselves.

Bryallyn glanced up at him, frowning in confusion. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Nathaniel gestured towards the building. "That ... ducking and dodging thing inside."

Bryallyn did giggle this time. "Oh,  _that_. Well, several ... ahem, admirers were stalking me," she replied. "I figured that if they could not find me, then they could not have my attentions for the night."

"Admirers?" Nathaniel echoed.

Bryallyn sighed. "Now that Anora and Cailan have wed, I am the highest ranking, most marriageable woman available. Now every eligible noble's son will come seeking my hand, courting, pleading with me to tell them  _they_  are the one whom I should marry." Bryallyn sighed heavily again, shaking her head at the thought. "A damned nuisance if you ask me ..."

Nathaniel nodded suddenly in understanding. "Ahh, I see. A pack of wolves at your heels then."

Bryallyn's laugh was filled with irony. "Trust me, Nathaniel, from personal experience I can tell you I much prefer the pack of wolves! At least I can trust the wolves' intentions to be straightforward and honorable."

They sat talking for a time, occasionally glancing over at the windows to observe the goings-ons indoors, but for the most part simply enjoying the company of the other. He listened to her talk about Highever, about her training as a ranger and when she'd first noticed her affinity with animals. She watched him closely as he told her of his training, first with the bow, which he admitted was his weapon of choice, and then with twin blades. "Like you," he added at one point, "I prefer being in the shadows."

Bryallyn smiled. She was about to make a comment when she heard the minstrels inside begin playing a popular dancing tune.* She smiled as she recognized the song almost immediately. Nathaniel watched the change come over his companion; silver slipper-covered toes began tapping, the soft rustle of the dress material as it bounced, she began humming softly, and he had to wonder if she even knew she was doing it.  _Do I dare ask her?_  he wondered, looking around them. It was dark enough, they had room enough, his mother wasn't around to criticize ... would it work?

Bryallyn took a breath to ask him a question when she saw a spark light up the stormy grey of his eyes. Tilting her head sideways, she lifted an eyebrow and asked, "What is it?"

"Would you like to dance?" he asked gesturing to the grassy area to his left.

Bryallyn eyed him quickly, noting a nervousness there, but a true willingness to try. "Of course," she replied, reaching for the hand he extended towards her as he rose. She felt him pull her along gently until they were in the dark, flat, grassy area. Within moments of arriving, she felt his hand at her waist, the other taking her hand as he spun her into the pattern. She chanced a glance up at him as they moved, almost as one, and saw the slight smile teasing his lips. Smiling back at him in enjoyment, she let him lead on.

Nathaniel was amazed at how comfortable he felt moving to the music with her in his arms. The last time his parents had held a party at the keep, he and his siblings had been expected to participate. It had been an unmitigated disaster, as his mother had been more than happy to point out after the event. Particularly for Nathaniel. It had taken the eldest Howe sibling a long while to make himself move beyond that lecture, though his father had reassured him there was no lasting harm done.

But here he stood now; stepping, swishing and swirling, ...  _dancing_  as it was truly meant to be done. He found himself relaxing into the rhythm of the song, the ease of the steps. And for her part, Bryallyn actually appeared to be enjoying herself. Her lips were curved up at the edges and slightly apart in a smile of delight, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She obviously knew the dance well, anticipating the movements, stepping almost before he guided her: which, when he thought on it, didn't really surprise him. As a rogue, she would have to be light on her feet. This was simply a natural by-product of that training.

As the song wound down, Bryallyn lifted her head so Nathaniel could see her smile. "That was wonderful!" she said a bit breathlessly, squeezing his hand in hers. "So much nicer when the gentleman actually knows how to dance!"

Nathaniel could not hold back a soft snort. At her look of concern, he explained, "My mother seems to believe my ... courtly skills, particularly dancing, are sadly lacking." He took a few moments to explain.

Bryallyn covered her mouth as she laughed aloud a moment later. "Oh, Nathaniel," she hurried to reassure him when she realized how that had sounded, "have you never watched your mother dance?" With a sparkle in her eyes, and noting he seemed amused, she told him, "My father has mentioned to me upon occasion he has had the great ... misfortune of dancing with her."

"Misfortune?" he queried as he led her back to the bench.

Bryallyn nodded. "Apparently, she tends to step on her partners' feet..."

Nathaniel's grin broadened as she giggled, and he wasn't sure if it was more due to the fact that his mother wasn't as perfect as she thought, or that Bryallyn was enjoying herself so much. "Though I do not claim to be an expert," he told her, "I can safely say I have never abused my partners so."

Smiling contentedly, Bryallyn leaned against his arm, resting her head at his shoulder. "I am glad you were here this evening," she said softly after a while. "I dreaded the thought of ducking around in the shadows all night long." She heard Nathaniel chuckle lightly. "You do realize, do you not, that your younger brother is one of those who has been chasing after me?"

Nathaniel sobered quickly at this thought. "I had not given it much thought, but I suppose that is to be expected," he observed quietly.  _Funny_ , he thought,  _that Father would encourage Thomas but not me._  "Thomas is what you might call 'the good son,' always doing as mother and father bid without question." He sighed and sat back a bit.

Bryallyn watched him in the darkness, sensing a change in his mood. "Nathaniel?" she called softly.

Nathaniel heard her, but it was a moment before he responded. "Yes?"

Bryallyn rose to her feet, tugging lightly at his hand as she did so. "Walk with me for a bit?" She was glad to see him rise and offer her an arm without question. Sliding hers through, they began walking down the pathway they and followed earlier in the day. Out of range of the palace and the trees, the full moon shone down providing plenty of light to see.

"How much longer will you be in Denerim?" she asked as they walked.

Nathaniel was quiet a moment before responding, "Two or three more days at most, I expect. Yourself?"

"The same."

Again, silence save for the breeze wafting through the leaves of the trees and the distant sound of music and chatter coming from the ballroom. Nathaniel glanced down at Bryallyn for a moment to find her staring ahead of them, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. Frowning slightly, he searched for something with which to engage her in conversation.

"Perhaps we could -"

"If you will be in the city, maybe we could -"

Bryallyn blushed, glanced down at her feet in embarrassment as she spoke over his words and dropped his arm at the same time. "I'm sorry," she told him.

Nathaniel smiled, his own cheeks tinged a bit red. "No, the fault was mine." He waited for her to look back up at him, knowing that she would. Once she did, he widened his smile just a bit. "Please, continue."

Bryallyn thought about protesting, but realized that he would simply keep insisting ... "I was thinking," she told him, "that if you were still going to be in the city, perhaps we could ... train together? I was thinking our styles are similar enough, they might be compatible ..."

Nathaniel looked down at her and noticed a hesitation there, combined with embarrassment. He lifted a brow indicating the thought interested him. "What did you have in mind?" he asked.

Bryallyn sighed. "We could meet at the training yard here at the palace tomorrow?" She thought a bit longer. "Yes, I think that would work best. I will ask my father tonight if he could help arrange it."

Taking a deep breath, Bryallyn straightened, hearing the music behind them once more. "I suppose we ought to get back inside before someone sends out a search party looking for us," she said softly.

Nathaniel thought he could detect disappointment in her tone. Offering her an arm, he turned and began leading her back to the ballroom. They were silent most of the way until they had almost reached the doors. When she came to a sudden stop, it was all he could do not to run into her. Spinning around, she asked him quickly, "There can only be one or two dances left, as late as it is. Would you be willing to be my partner for them? To ... protect me from the pack of wolves as it were?"

The thought nearly made Nathaniel faint. Dancing outside, with no one else around them and in the darkness was one thing. But in a crowded room with everyone watching? He preferred the shadows, it was one of the reasons he enjoyed being a rogue. Glancing down at her face, however, he saw a brightness that had been there since shortly after he had found her earlier, and he found that had no desire to disappoint her. Swallowing whatever fears he might have, he nodded. "I would be happy to," he told her. "Anything to help a lady in distress ..." They entered the building to the sound of her laughter.

* * *

Bryce Cousland, Teyrn of Highever, led his wife out onto the dance floor a short while later for the last dance of the evening.** He smiled at Cailan and Anora who also joined them, as well as Loghain and his partner on the far side of the couple. Turning to Eleanor, he murmured, "Who is that dancing with our Pup?"

Eleanor gave her husband a teasing smile, replying quietly, "What's the matter, darling? Afraid your daughter has actually found a young man whose company she enjoys?"

Bryce chuckled. He knew better than to fall for that. "I'm just curious, Ellie."

"That is Nathaniel Howe ... Rendon's oldest," she told him as he took her hand and turned her in a circle. "They apparently met earlier this afternoon in the royal gardens."

Bryce frowned. "That's Nathaniel?" he mused. "I had not realized it's been so long since we'd last seen him ... Rendon sent him away so young. Does Bry even remember him?"

"I don't believe so," Eleanor replied. "She certainly didn't indicate that she did when we were getting ready earlier." Stepping back to her place, Eleanor and the other women clapped in beat with the tune. "I'm not so sure that he remembers her either."

Bryce glanced over at his daughter who, he had to admit, seemed to be enjoying herself finally at the ball. He had seen her earlier in the evening, her usual "ducking and dodging" routine with boys who seemed overly anxious at obtaining her favors.

"Is there anything to this?" Eleanor asked after a short while.

Bryce gave her a tolerant smile. "Ellie, she's old enough to decide for herself. Remember? We discussed this when she turned seventeen. Let her be. When it's right, she will tell us." Reaching out for his wife's hands, he turned her into position to hold her for the last portion of the dance.

Four couples away from her parents, Bryallyn moved into a similar position with Nathaniel. Nearby she saw Fergus and Oriana, and down further Nathaniel's mother and father. With a gentle smile, she glanced up at Nathaniel. "Not so bad, is it?" she asked.

Nathaniel swallowed, though he was silently admitting that she was right. "Not as bad as I thought," he admitted as they came to their end position. Taking her arm, he began leading her off the dance floor. He guided her over to the rest of her family, pointedly ignoring his own for the moment, certain he would pay for it later, but uncaring. Bryallyn was right: he had enjoyed himself after their return indoors, and he intended to make the feeling last as long as possible.

Bryce glanced up as he saw his daughter and her companion approach. "Have a good time, Pup?" he asked.

"I did," she agreed. When she heard Fergus sniggering nearby, she glared at him ... until Oriana slapped his arm lightly and admonished, "Husband, enough! This is not the time nor the place to torment your sister."

Bryce nodded at Nathaniel as the younger man released Bryallyn's arm. "You are Rendon Howe's eldest, are you not?"

Nathaniel nodded. "Yes, your Grace. Nathaniel."

"Ah, that's right." Bryce began to speak further with Nathaniel and led him off towards the left. When Bryallyn would have followed, Eleanor caught her daughter's arm. "No, darling, let your father have some time with him."

Bryallyn gave her mother a puzzled expression. "... 'have some time ...' But, ... why? All we did was dance, mother. It's not like he's courting me. We are simply friends."

Eleanor smiled and patted her daughter's arm, turning her towards the doorway that would lead them towards the family apartments. "Because, Bry, he is your father, and as such, he has certain ... duties he feels he must uphold ..."

"Maker's breath!" Bryallyn hissed in exasperation. "Had I realized he would be subjected to a bloody inquisition, I would have insisted Nathaniel return to his family before I came over here!"

Eleanor chuckled. She heard Fergus and Oriana behind them and pushed her daughter forward. "Come along, darling, we can deal with your father tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Under a Violet Moon - Blackmore's Night
> 
> ** The Clock Ticks On - Blackmore's Night


	4. Practice What You Preach

Her father's promise echoing inside her head, Bryallyn dressed in her leather armor armed with her bow and dagger, and headed out of the family apartments towards the east. She was to meet Nathaniel at the palace training yard there in just a short while. It took her some time, the building being as large as it was, and she slowed her pace somewhat knowing that she had time. When she did finally arrive at the training yard, she found the area fenced off into several partitioned sections, some including practice dummies were obviously intended for those who were alone. She located the proper section and began to prepare for her upcoming sparring session with Nathaniel.

Nathaniel entered the practice yard a short time later to find Bryallyn warming up. For the briefest of moments, just upon entering the yard and while he still remained in the shadows near the doorway, Nathaniel simply watched. The young woman had a natural grace about her, something that he could see clearly in her movements as she switched from one position to the next. Part of him wanted to stand there all day and simply watch her because he knew that it was a rare gift that many did not have, but he realized that would be impossible if only because he knew that she was persistent enough to go looking for him if he didn't show himself.

As he stepped forward, he noticed the others in the yard who were there ... practicing ... and watching. Rolling his eyes, Nathaniel stepped forward half wondering if this had been such a good idea after all.

Bryallyn glanced up at the sound of approaching footsteps on the gravel and dirt. Straightening, she glanced up to find Nathaniel entering the practice ring. He was dressed in his leather armor as well and was setting his gear aside when she called out, "Good morning."

Nathaniel nodded at her, his silence more an affect of their audience than anything else.

Bryallyn finished her stretch and moved to his side. "Are you all right?" she queried softly.

Nathaniel shrugged as he did some warming up of his own. He watched as Bryallyn stepped back, leaning against the fencing to observe his movements. "I'm fine," he told her, unwilling to go into more detail. "Did I keep you waiting long?"

Bryallyn shook her head. "Not at all. I was just about to start working against a practice dummy if you hadn't shown up." She straightened and asked, "Which would you prefer to do first? Long range or close up?"

Nathaniel took a moment to think this through. "I think we should work on melee skills for now," he told her. "We can finish with the targets. I think we might be more inclined to attract a larger audience with that particular activity."

Bryallyn frowned. "Larger audience ...?" She glanced around them and finally noticed the others out on the practice field whose attentions were directed at them. Sighing heavily and rolling her eyes, she turned back towards Nathaniel. "I'm sorry," she told him. "I'm just so used to my father's men accepting me and my presence in the practice yard at Highever ..." She sighed and glanced away. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to, Nathaniel."

Nathaniel straightened. "Not a problem," he told her. He led her in the direction of the practice weapons, watched as she chose hers - a dagger - and then chose his own. "You don't use two weapons?" he asked curiously.

Bryallyn shrugged. "I don't really use one that well," she admitted. "My weapon is my bow, Nathaniel. If someone is getting that close to me, I still use the bow, but usually I don't let them get that close to begin with. Then there's the whole ... animal thing ...?"

Nathaniel nodded and tried to hide his surprise, but knew he hadn't been successful when he saw her lips quirk up in a smile. Sighing, he reached over for a second dagger. "Take this," he told her, passing it over. "I think we really may have our work cut out for us now."

Bryallyn turned and followed him back to the ring. "Oh? How so?"

Sighing, Nathaniel turned towards her. "I am going to begin teaching you some of the dual weapons techniques I've learned over the years. I don't like the idea of you not being able to defend yourself with only your bow as a weapon."

Bryallyn sighed. "You are beginning to sound like Fergus and Father ...," she muttered, her mood darkening a bit.

"Did you ever think that perhaps they might have understood the situation better?" he challenged quietly. "The necessity for close arms combat skills, particularly for a woman?"

"I am quite capable of taking care of my-"

Nathaniel's sudden glare cut her words short. "Is that so?" he asked, his voice harsh, his body moving to take an aggressive stance as he began to circle her. He watched her change positions and begin moving as well. "Let's just see what would happen if you came face to face with a situation where you needed to defend yourself up close and personal like." Nathaniel continued to move, almost stalking her as if she were the enemy. He feinted left first, but she didn't move. A bit more circling. Another feint. Then a double feint.

Bryallyn placed all of her focus on Nathaniel as he began moving around her.  _I can take care of myself quite well, thank you very much!_  she thought huffily. She kept her eyes on his, watching his every move. She remembered the basics she had been taught: keep your focus on your enemy's eyes, they will tell you the truth of the situation. She watched Nathaniel feint with his blade, but did not react to it. She continued moving, no attempts at her own attack, and was prepared for his next feint ... and the one that came hard afterwards ...

Nathaniel evaluated her reactions to his movements.  _She knows the first rule_ , he realized with some satisfaction.  _Good. Let's see how she does with the next ..._

Bryallyn kept her eyes on his as he pulled away from her a bit, putting more distance between them. This move caught her off guard.  _What is he doing?_  she wondered, her eyes narrowing. She maintained the contact with his eyes, and was able to see when he made his move. Countering, she blocked his attack and spun away.

Nathaniel had the advantage he knew. Aside from simply being taller and stronger, he was more familiar with holding and wielding two weapons at one time. Though Bryallyn seemed to have the basics down for close combat fighting, she was not used to holding or using a second weapon as a defense. Backing off, he started circling again.  _She knows to look at the eyes_ , he told himself, _let's see what she does when that is taken away from her._  Without a sound, he shifted into his shadow forms.

Bryallyn gasped as Nathaniel suddenly disappeared from her view.  _Where did he go?_  she wondered. She glanced around, her whole body on guard as she suddenly realized her vulnerability. She had heard of shadow rogues, of their ability to shift in and out of the shadows while fighting, using them almost as much as a weapon as any blade or bow. It seemed that Nathaniel had been studying this style.

"It seems I found a lapse in your training," Nathaniel's deep voice murmured near her ear. He had moved behind her, positioning himself against her back, one hand with a training blade at her waist, the other over her opposite shoulder with the training blade at her throat. "You are walking down the streets of Denerim, unescorted, all alone. You've been attacked from behind. What do you do now?"

Bryallyn's breath caught at the first whisper. Years of training with her bow, on keeping her focus despite noise, movement or any other distraction, kept Bryallyn from making a sound or moving before she was ready. But, when he asked what what she would do then, she allowed the instinctual, distinctive training that she had learned from her mother and Nan take over. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she released it slowly. In less than a heart beat, she collapsed her slender frame, her body sliding between his arms towards the ground.

Nathaniel knew the moment that she didn't respond to his words, his actions, that she was up to something else. Just what he was not sure of ... until she moved, sagging in his arms, catching him off guard. His instinctual reaction was to catch her, but she slid through is arms too quickly, and the moment she landed at his feet, he felt her spinning, her leg connecting with his, her elbow jamming up behind her to catch him in his mid-section.

Bryallyn backed away from him then, her weapons out in front of her, her gaze locked back onto him as he fell to the ground, clearly unprepared for her style. " _That_  is what I do!" she hissed, struggling to catch her breath.

Nathaniel, for his part, did not collapse in a compete lump on the ground. His training, his natural instinctual reaction for self preservation had served him well. He landed on one knee, the other bent up for him to lean his arm upon. He gasped for breath as he looked at her. He saw her eyes flashing intently, something more there than he had seen before.  _I've triggered something_ , he realized belatedly. "Bry?" he called out between gasps.

Bryallyn found herself blinking several times, the haze of reaction that had overtaken her for that one moment finally beginning to fade. Taking several deep breaths, she replayed the last few moments over in her mind. When he called her name out, looking for a response, she felt horror blindside her. Dropping her weapons, she moved to his side. "Nathaniel!" she gasped. "I'm - I'm so sorry!"

Nathaniel bit back a groan at the pain in his leg from her kick. "No," he finally managed, struggling for a moment as he rose to his feet. "It ... is obvious you have some ... training."

Bryallyn glanced up at him, her eyes searching his. "Nathaniel, I-"

Nathaniel smiled gently through his pain. "No harm done, Bry," he told her, his arm moving to her shoulder in an effort to help him maintain his balance for just a moment longer. "My mistake. Obviously your father and brother have had you trained well enough."

"No," she told him, staying by his side as they walked over to the fencing. "That was my mother's idea. My father and my brother have no clue."

Taking a deep breath, Nathaniel chuckled and nodded. "Well, your mother used very good sense when she had you trained then," he told her. Another deep breath and Nathaniel felt himself feeling more like normal. "Though I do think you should consider additional training, particularly with two weapons, I know now that you are quite capable of defending yourself."

Bryallyn gave him a long look as he brushed his hair back from his face, took a long drink from the waterskin he had brought with him. When he handed it to her, she nodded and took a sip as well. When she handed it back, she made a decision. "Would you ... be willing to show me?" she asked. When he lifted his head a bit, she added, "Just some of the basics, I know we don't have enough time for thorough instruction. Just so I know how to at least hold and use two weapons properly?"

Nathaniel watched her closely, the way she took her time to think about it, to evaluate all that had just happened, before she asked. Nodding, he replied, "I can do that." When he rose to his feet, he led her back into the center of the ring and started to show her the different positioning, some defensive movements and a few offensive ones as well. After working with her on the new moves and movements, he ran her through a mock battle again, this one focused solely on what he had just taught her. The results were not bad for a morning's worth of training, but Nathaniel decided to go over the techniques once more, refining movements, detailing the stances, repeating the battle moves. Then they battled again. This time, Nathaniel was smiling, obviously pleased with the results.

When they finished, some couple hours later, Bryallyn smiled up at him. "Thank you, Nathaniel."

Nathaniel smiled back. "Glad I could help." Glancing around, he found that many of the soldiers who had been her training earlier had left, and as he began to wonder why, he felt his stomach grumble.

Bryallyn heard the noise and was about to tease him when hers did the same. With a grin, she suggested, "Shall we stop for lunch?"

Nathaniel nodded. "Why not?" he asked. He gathered their training weapons and returned them. Then, joining her back at the practice ring, he retrieved his blades, arming himself once more. As he did so, he watched her adjust her bow at her back, setting the quiver just so. Additionally, he noted that she was now wearing a dagger at her waist. "So," he said conversationally as he offered her an arm to lean on while stepping through the fence, "I need an armed escort to the Market District, do I?"

Bryallyn smiled. Joining him at his side, she commented, "No more so than I, I should think. Is that where you are headed to eat then?"

Nathaniel nodded, gesturing her through the door. As she continued to walk beside him, he realized that she too was heading in that direction. "You as well, I see."

Bryallyn smiled. "I thought I might ... buy you lunch," she said softly. "To make up for my behavior earlier."

Nathaniel frowned. "Bry, you don't need to -"

She glanced up at him. "Please, Nathaniel, I insist." She watched as he sighed, slightly dramatically she thought, but then nodded. "I was thinking of one of the local food vendors, if you don't mind?" He tilted his head in question. With a smile, she added, "There's one behind Wade's shop that does these fabulous meat pies ..."

They walked along, taking main streets and avoiding the alleyways heading towards the Market District on the eastern end of Denerim. As they walked, they chatted about inconsequential things, mostly about their lives as children in their respective homes. Nathaniel told her about having a younger sister and brother, about his time spent wandering around the Arling of Amaranthine when he could find it, about squiring for Arl Bryland down in South Reach.

Bryallyn for her part told him about growing up with an older brother who loved to torment her, of discovering one day while out walking in the forests around Highever of the affinity she had with animals, of rescuing her brother from kidnappers and using that incident to convince her parents and her brother that she should be allowed to train with Highever's men. She also told him of the times she would sneak out of the castle, usually at night, to wander around the town of Highever, meeting the people, learning about them and coming to be friends with a few of them.

Upon their return to the palace training grounds that afternoon, Bryallyn asked, "Are you still up for a shooting match?"

Nathaniel saw the enthusiasm in her eyes and did not have the heart to disappoint her. "I'm game if you are," he agreed.  _This should be interesting._

Bryallyn smiled and walked with him over to the archery range which was, for obvious reasons, set apart from the sparring rings. There were targets available for four lanes, so they chose the two furthest away from the rest of the training area just to be safe. They prepared themselves, setting aside their other weapons and focusing solely on their bows and quivers. Each adjusted their equipment and armor accordingly. When satisfied with the results, they began warming up.

Nathaniel focused down the range, sighting the target. The wind was not much of an issue at the moment, as they were walled in within the boundaries of the training yard. This perturbed him a bit as the wind was an essential factor in proper archery technique. But, as he had no control over their competition location he let it go.

Bryallyn checked her bowstring before she began, something she did each and every day as well, but out of habit before a competition. Pulling an arrow from her quiver, she nocked it, raised her bow, sighted and ...

* * *

Though exiting Cailan's study, Bryce Cousland was still speaking with Loghain and the king when they realized there was a buzz of activity going on around them. Distracted, the men glanced around a moment, Cailan finally asking one of his guards, "Miller, what's going on? Are we being invaded or something?"

The guard chuckled softly, apparently used to the new king's slightly off-beat sense of humor. "Not at all, your Majesty," he replied. "Word has come down of quite an archery competition being held out on the training grounds. Some of the men are just in a hurry to arrive so that they can partake in the wagering I would imagine."

Cailan heard Loghain scoff beside him. With a smile of encouragement, he asked, "Who are the competitors?" He glanced at the two Teyrns and added, "Perhaps we should attend? Give it the royal seal of approval?"

Bryce smiled knowing how Cailan enjoyed military competitions as a form of entertainment. He caught Loghain's eye, the other man not nearly as tolerant.

"It is between the Arl of Amaranthine's son and the Lady Bryallyn, your Majesty."

Bryce felt the eyes of his two companions turn towards him, and he groaned inwardly. Sighing heavily, for he knew that Cailan would indeed insist upon watching the match now, Bryce said, "I had no idea, your Majesty. I knew the two were taking to the practice yards today, but I had no forewarning of any such competition." He noted as they began following Cailan down the hall that the king's guards fell in behind them...

* * *

Eleanor Cousland was not in good humor to say the least. Sighing, she stopped by Oriana's room first and whispered, "Would you do me a favor, my dear?"

Oriana rose from where she had been sitting, beside her son's bed as he slept. "Yes, of course, mother," the younger woman replied.

"The Arl of Amaranthine is here, to see me of all people. I do not wish to be in a room alone with him. Would you please come with me? Nan," the Teyrna nodded at the woman standing nearby, "will watch after Oren for you."

Oriana nodded, reaching for her shawl. "Of course," she replied, falling into step beside her mother-in-law. She had heard enough, seen enough since marrying Fergus to know that the teyrna, though considering the Arl as a family friend, did not care for the man as an individual.

Entering the main sitting room, Eleanor plastered a smile onto her features and greeted Rendon Howe. "I'm sorry Bryce is not here, Rendon. May I help in some way?"

The man smiled at her, and Eleanor felt her stomach churn. "My lady," his nasally voice intoned, "I was actually looking for my eldest, Nathaniel. I had been told that he and your daughter were to train together today. When I went in search for the pair, I was unable to locate them. Might you know where they could be found?"

Eleanor was startled by this news. Though she knew about the training session itself, she had not realized that Bryallyn had not yet returned. She glanced at Oriana a moment, but the Antivan shrugged lightly, clearly as much in the dark as Eleanor. "I am sorry, Rendon," Eleanor replied, "I have not seen them either. Perhaps they went for a walk in the gardens?"

The Arl was about to reply when the doors to the apartments were thrown open loudly, and Eleanor looked up to see her son striding inside hurriedly. "Fergus!" she gasped.

Fergus had the decency to look a bit sheepish. "Sorry, Mother," he told her, kissing her cheek. "I was in a bit of a rush. There is something going on I think you might be interested in." He took the next few moments to explain the match down at the training grounds. "Apparently, it has been going on for quite a while now. It seems as if Bryallyn may have met her match."

Clearly intrigued, Eleanor reached for her shawl before following both her son and the Arl of Amaranthine out of the apartments.

* * *

Bryallyn nocked her arrow and lifted her bow yet again. She'd lost count how many rounds she and Nathaniel had split between them. As she sighted this time, she felt a rivulet of sweat trickle into her eye. Cursing softly, she took a moment to wipe the moisture away before raising the bow again. Her shot hit dead center again. Lowering her bow, she waited on Nathaniel.

To be honest with himself, Nathaniel had given up hope of winning the competition after the first five rounds. He had known she would be good, for having focused her training almost exclusively on the bow, he would at least hope she would be a decent shot. What had surprised him was her accuracy and consistency. After the first five rounds, he was sure she was a better shot than him. And, where this might displease his parents, Nathaniel felt that it was something he could learn from.

Bryallyn knew that a crowd had gathered, but she refused to acknowledge them, afraid that by doing so she would interrupt her focus and concentration. Taking a deep breath, she lined up her next shot ...

Nathaniel followed suit. The crowd didn't bother him so much, though there was a reason he was learning to be a shadow rogue: he preferred fighting from the dark. No one could see you coming and your chances of survival were increased. However, his greater concern at the moment was if his father found out. Rendon Howe expected perfection from his children, and was thoroughly displeased when he received anything less. Despite the fact that Nathaniel and Bryallyn were equally skilled, Nathaniel knew his father would find fault with him.

Bryallyn was watching Nathaniel take his shot, biting her lip as she focused on his technique, eyed his finger placement on the bowstring, the strength in the pull ...

Nathaniel was startled by the sound of a man behind him sneezing rather loudly, and it was just enough for his aim to go awry. When it landed, well outside the center of the target, he realized he had lost. Oddly enough, however, he had no sense of disappointment at the results. Taking a deep breath, lowering his bow to his side, he turned to face Bryallyn. Nodding his concession, he told her, "I yield, my lady."

Stunned, Bryallyn glanced at the landing site of his last shot. "Nathaniel, we'll redo it. That wasn't right -"

Nathaniel smiled warmly, lifting his hand. "No, Bry, it was well within the rules. You and I both know that everything must be taken into consideration. You won fair and square."

Before either could say another word, their conversation was interrupted by the king who chose that moment to step forward. "Wonderful! Well played, both of you!"

Bryallyn's eyes snapped to Nathaniel's who winked at her. Smiling, she turned to face the king. "Thank you, your Majesty," she told him with a slight bow. Nathaniel echoed her movement.

With a large grin, Cailan took a hand of each in turn and shook it warmly. "Never have I seen such an excellent display of marksmanship! And, I do apologize," he added a bit more quietly, "for my inopportune sneeze at the end there."

Bryallyn glanced down at her feet to keep from laughing as Nathaniel replied, "Not at all, your Majesty. We are glad you enjoyed it."

Bryallyn nodded, lifting her head again. Behind the king she began to search the crowd ...  _Oh no!_  she thought moments later as she spied her father, mother, brother and other faces she recognized. She felt Nathaniel stiffen slightly beside her and suspected that he had just noticed his father standing beside her parents. The king, on the other hand, turned them both in the direction of the crowd and led them along, chatting to them enthusiastically about the portion of the match he had witnessed. "Perhaps," he added as they arrived beside the rest of the onlookers, "I should have the two of you teaching my archers, hmm?" With that, he departed with his guards and Loghain following behind. Bryallyn thought she heard Cailan saying, "Glorious! Simply glorious!" as he walked through the doors.

Bryallyn took a step closer to Nathaniel as it seemed the majority of watchers now wanted to close in on them to speak, touch or otherwise engage their attentions. She felt her breath catch for a moment, not used to such focus except perhaps from her family members ... until finally a familiar face stepped into her view. Glancing up at him, his smile as bright as any other, Bryallyn faced her father. When she would have spoken, Bryce shook his head. Stepping closer, Bryallyn saw her mother step around him to one side, her brother to the other. "Well done, Bry," Bryce told her quietly. "I am so very proud of you!"

Eleanor hugged her daughter, whispering, "I think it may be almost time for us to have another competition of our own, my darling!"

Bryallyn was taken aback by that. Periodically, usually once a year, she and her mother would have a friendly competition. Bryallyn was aware that her mother was testing her on her skill, to see what she had learned, perfected. But they had just had their battle a scant four months before!

"Well done, little sister!" Fergus told her with a hug. "As soon as Oren is big enough to hold a short bow, I think I might have to have you give him lessons!"

Bryallyn blushed at this. "Of - of course!" she agreed, unable to think of anything else to say.

For Nathaniel, things were much different. He was only half listening as his father ranted quietly, having pulled him off to the side of the range. " ... beaten by a woman of all things! Perhaps I should send you farther away, better training? More stringent conditions?"

Nathaniel sighed. This would not wind up well, he knew. It apparently didn't matter that the king had been pleased with the results, Rendon Howe had not been. Nathaniel chanced a sideways glance to the side and saw Bryallyn hugging her family members.  _That_  was how family should behave.

* * *

From a far corner of the compound, deep within the shadows, a softly voiced conversation could not be overheard. "Was I right to bring you in, Commander?"

The older man, dark in looks, hair and thoughtful in appearance nodded sagely. "Yes, Bernardo, *****  this was definitely worth my time. I suspect we shall have to keep and eye on them both."

Both men watched as the crowd began dispersing out of the practice range and back into the royal palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A/N: Bernardo is a character created by Erynnar who, with kind permission, has allowed me to borrow him here.


	5. Visiting Amaranthine

The days and weeks following the family's return to Highever from the capitol city were always fraught with confusion. First there was the adjustment of bringing a large part of the household back into the castle, schedules to adjust, chores to reassign. Then there was the inevitable backlog of tasks and duties that had built up because it had demanded the skills of one who had been absent. It was in this vein that Bryallyn often found herself assisting her father. Whereas Fergus would often take issues dealing with the troops, only bringing in Bryce when absolutely necessary, Bryallyn had, at a fairly young age, taken on assisting the Cousland patriarch with his correspondence.

It never failed to amaze her, as she sat at his desk sorting out missives into various piles, at the sheer quantity of communications that could arrive during an almost three month absence. To add to it, newer messages continued to arrive on top of those she was sorting through. Bryallyn was now in her third week of assisting Bryce, her job almost complete, when she came across a seal she recognized immediately.  _Amaranthine!_  As her father was nearby, Bryallyn tried to maintain a casual and composed reaction, but she heard a soft chuckle from across the room where Bryce was looking over some maps. Bryallyn glanced out of the corner of her eye, but her father refused to look over at her. Sighing, she returned to the chore at hand.

Opening the folded parchment, she began scanning the document, discerning the reason for the message. A quick glance at the signature confirmed that the overly effusive message was indeed sent by the Arl of Amaranthine himself.  _Pretentious prat,_  she thought silently. Sighing again, she reread the message, sorting out the main points. "Father?" she called at last.

"Yes?"

Bryallyn glanced up at him openly now. Lifting the document, she waved it slightly and said, "Arl Howe is requesting that you and mother visit in the next month or two. Something about discussing plans for the next Landsmeet?"

Bryce chuckled again and crossed the room to take the message. He read it silently, occasionally nodding as he did, and Bryallyn simply rested her chin on her hand and watched him, a soft smile playing at her lips. She enjoyed helping her father with the correspondence. Though she and her parents had always been close, she felt this was one way, a special way almost that she and her father could ... bond, she supposed. With her mother, it was different as they had much more in common.

Bryallyn's thoughts were interrupted when Bryce told her, "I will have to discuss this with your mother, I suppose."

Their eyes connecting, Bryallyn held his gaze and noticed something there that she could not quite decipher. Tilting her head to the side slightly she asked, "May I come too?"

Bryce tried to bite back a grin, but knew he failed when she looked at him in confusion. Sighing heavily, because he knew in his heart he could deny his daughter nothing, but also knowing that his wife would be ready to argue it at the mere thought, he replied, "That decision will have to be left up to your mother, Pup." When Bryallyn opened her mouth to argue her point, but Bryce lifted his hand, cutting off the words before they began. "Why don't we go and discuss this with her now, hmm?"

Bryallyn smiled and rose to her feet. Together, father and daughter left the study (it was nearing time for the evening meal anyway), and went in search of Eleanor. Mentally, Bryallyn began working on her best arguments so that she would convince her mother.

* * *

Bryallyn finished her packing, hoisted the bag over her shoulder and left her room to find her parents. She passed her brother's room on the way, and ducked inside for a quick goodbye. Spying Fergus lying in bed and Oriana sitting over in a chair near the window, she murmured softly, "I will see you in when we get back."

Oriana rose immediately and crossed the room to give the younger woman a warm hug. "May the Maker keep you all safe in your travels, Bryallyn," she murmured softly as she pulled back.

Bryallyn nodded and hugged her sister-in-law back. "How is he?"

Oriana smiled. "He will be fine. It is simply the latest stomach bug. Nothing that a little time and misery will not cure."

Bryallyn bit her lip worriedly, glancing at her brother's sleeping form. He was pale, looked to have a fever, and over all simply appeared deathly ill. With one more look at Oriana who nodded reassuringly and began shooing Bryallyn along, the younger woman took her leave.

She made her way through the keep quickly, meeting up with her parents in the front courtyard where the horses were waiting. Her parents were already mounted, the selected Highever men mounting as she arrived. Securing her pack to the animal, Bryallyn turned to mount up when she saw Ser Roland (Rory to her and her family) Gilmore move to her side to assist. With a smile, she allowed him to give her a leg up, and as she settled into her stirrups and seat, she told him with a broad wink, "Make sure that brother of mine gets well before he starts changing the entire keep around!"

Rory chuckled softly, nodding and replying, "You know how stubborn your brother can be, my lady. I shall do my best but you must not hold me to any promises!"

Bryallyn began the journey near the middle of the small caravan leaving Highever and heading out cross country to Amaranthine. By the time they had been on the road an hour or so, she had made it up to the front of the group near her parents. As she approached, she could hear her mother saying, "I just don't think it was a wise decision to bring her with us, Bryce! You remember what happened -"

"Ellie," Bryce was saying, "she's smart and knows how to take care of herself. She has wanted to see Amaranthine for a long while now, and as she and Delilah are friends, why not? Besides," he added, "you did agree ..."

Bryallyn found herself holding back just a bit at these comments. She knew they were talking about her insistence upon going with them. Truth be told, she had chosen to go because she wanted to see Nathaniel again, perhaps have him train her some more in the dual weapon style he had introduced her to in Denerim. But from what her mother was implying, there was something more at risk ... though she had no idea what it could be, and it did not seem as if her mother was going to expand upon her earlier comments.

* * *

Nathaniel returned to his room after an afternoon of training with his father's men to find Delilah seated in a chair by his window. "Well," he said in a quiet voice as he began removing his weapons and setting them aside, "this is a pleasant surprise. Either you have finally learned to pick locks, or you have somehow made an impression of my key."

Delilah simply lifted a brow in question as she rose to face him. They both knew neither was the case as their parents refused to allow any of their children to have locking doors on their rooms inside of the keep. "I have something to tell you," she informed him in a neutral voice.

Nathaniel snorted as he began unbuckling some of his armor. "Are you still searching for Miss Maggie? I thought I told you years ago that I had nothing to do with that." He watched his sister roll her eyes at him, her look crying out, "I know you were behind that, quit trying to place blame elsewhere!"

"Actually," she said, her voice lowering a bit, taking on a teasing quality, "I was going to remind you that the Couslands will be arriving here in the next day or two."

Nathaniel groaned softly. "Yes, sister, I am aware of their impending visit. You may tell mother that I will be properly attired -"

"Bry will be with them."

Nathaniel knew that his sudden silence gave him away and as he searched his sister's face, he saw the spark of amusement and mischief flare behind eyes that nearly matched his own in color. "What are you up to, Del?" he asked.

Delilah bit back a cheeky grin and turned towards the doorway. "Nothing, brother," she assured him, her voice just a bit too casual. "I just thought you might like to know." She giggled and cried out in laughter in the next moment as he used his martial skills to cross the room quickly and catch her by her arm. "Is something amiss, brother?" she teased.

"Del!"

Delilah grinned and kissed his cheek. "Have no fear, I will not tell her," she promised. "Though I do think that if you wish to keep it a secret from her and her family, you should learn to hide your feelings better!"

Nathaniel could not contain the growl in his throat and watched as his sister ran off, an amused look still upon her face. Sighing then, he turned back into his room and closed the door. He was delighted at the thought of seeing Bryallyn again, yet he was also cognizant of the fact that having her here at Amaranthine, around his family, she would probably see him in a completely different light than she had at the palace or if he were to visit her at Highever. Nathaniel turned back into the room and began preparing for the evening meal with his family. As he did so, he began planning silently for the time that Bryallyn would be at the keep ... particularly activities that would get her away from his parents ...  _Perhaps we could go on a hunt ...?_

 

* * *

 

It took a week to get from Highever to Amaranthine, but Bryallyn didn't mind. The distance was similar from Highever to Denerim, and she had made that trip on many an occasion. When they pulled into the courtyard of the keep, Bryallyn began scanning around for her friends. A short time later, as her parents were dismounting, and Bryallyn did the same, she finally heard the loud nasal tones of the Arl of Amaranthine approaching. Turning slightly as she removed her pack from her horse, she saw the man speaking to her father ... alone. Frowning, she scanned around again.

"Ah, and here is Bryce's spitfire of a girl! Welcome to Amaranthine, my dear."

Out of the corner of her eye, Bryallyn saw her mother whispering to her father, motioning towards her, but Bryallyn turned her attention to the Arl. "Thank you, your Grace," she replied.

Rendon Howe reached out to place a hand at her back and guide her towards her parents, who were now turning to climb up the steps into the keep.

A short time later, Bryallyn found herself in her room, unpacking her bag and preparing to change for the evening meal. Her mother had insisted she bring a dress, much to her dismay, and had extracted Bryallyn's promise to wear the garment for the evening meals. So, now in the solitude of the room, she began to prepare for a bath to wash the dirt and grime of the road from her body and prepare for what undoubtedly would be a long meal.  _You didn't have to come_ , she reminded herself.  _You could have remained at Highever ..._

She had just released her hair from the braid she had worn while traveling when she heard a knock at her door. Frowning, she crossed to open the barrier. "Nathaniel!" she breathed, opening the door to allow him entrance. She saw him hesitate for just a moment before stepping inside the room.

"Welcome to Vigil's Keep," he told her, lifting her hand to brush her knuckles with a kiss.

Bryallyn smiled up at him. It had only been about six months since they had last seen each other, but at moments like this, it seemed as if it had been forever. "Thank you," she replied quietly.

Nathaniel glanced around the room, noticed the filled tub and told her, "I apologize. I did not realize you were about to bathe. We can talk later perhaps?"

Bryallyn nodded. "I would like that. And, Nathaniel?" She watched him pause at the door and turn to face her. "It is good to see you again."

Nathaniel smiled. "I will see you at dinner," he said before giving her a slight bow and leaving the room.

After closing her door, she quickly moved to bathe and wash her hair before dressing for the evening. Once she was clothed, she stepped over near the window to allow the breeze filter through to assist with drying her hair before pulling it back into a loose braid which she folded under and tied back around it at the base of her neck. Even folded thus, it still reached the middle of her back.

It was during dinner, while her father and Rendon Howe were talking at one end of the table, the women at the other end that Bryallyn's attention was caught by Nathaniel. Seating arrangements were such that he sat beside her, Thomas directly across, and Delilah across from Nathaniel. Bryallyn and Delilah had been teasing Nathaniel mercilessly, as Thomas had no apparent interest in their discussion, and Bryallyn had been a bit surprised that Nathaniel was taking it so well, though she suspected that, given his sister's teasing nature, he was used to it. After the most recent round of giggling had wound down, Nathaniel glanced towards Bryallyn and asked, "I was wondering perhaps if you might like to go hunting during your stay at Amaranthine? We have some excellent forests around these parts."

Bryallyn looked over at Delilah, lifting a brow in question. When her friend looked away from her, however, Bryallyn frowned. Opening her mouth to respond, she was cut off for a moment by her friend's father who broke in and suggested, "Why not make a day of it and take Thomas with you as well? I'm sure he would enjoy it, wouldn't you boy?"

Bryallyn swallowed as she watched the younger Howe son nod and reply with a bit of a slur, "Yessss, Father." It appeared that the rumors of Thomas' drinking were well founded.

Glancing at Delilah again. Bryallyn asked, "Del, will you come as well?" When she saw that the girl was about to refuse, Bryallyn shot a pleading look to Nathaniel.

"Come with us, Del," he encouraged immediately. "Bring your lute and we will make time to let you play for us."

With a heavy sigh, Delilah reluctantly agreed, murmuring, "I suppose it might be fun."

Bryallyn shot Nathaniel a grin before turning to look at her father with a pleading look. She saw the Teyrn struggle to maintain his composure, but the sparkle in his eyes gave him away. With a smile of thanks, Bryallyn set about eating the remainder of her meal content in the knowledge that she would be spending the next day with her friends out exploring the forests of the arling instead of closed up inside the keep.

* * *

Later that evening, Bryallyn was seated at the table near her window reading a book when she heard a soft knock at her door. Pulling her robe closer, for she had already changed for the evening, she called out, "Enter."

Nathaniel stepped into the room then, closing the door behind him. "I hope I am not intruding," he said quietly.

Smiling, Bryallyn rose to her feet, set the book upon the table and crossed the room. "Not at all," she replied. "I was just reading before I retired for the night. Did you need something?"

Nathaniel smiled and shook his head assuring her, "No, I just wanted to stop in and thank you."

Bryallyn frowned slightly and blinked. "Erm,... all right?" she returned hesitantly.

Nathaniel laughed softly. "For asking Delilah to come along on the hunt with us tomorrow," he clarified. "I have been trying to convince her to come out more with me since returning to Amaranthine, but she does not like to."

"Why?" Bryallyn asked as she slid her hands into the pockets of her robe.

"I think she is afraid," Nathaniel admitted softly. "Father has not allowed her to learn any weapon styles, including bow, and I think she is simply afraid to be out without a way to defend herself if necessary." He shrugged. "I have offered to teach her, but again, she is afraid that Mother and Father will find out."

Bryallyn shook her head in disgust, but said nothing. It was not her place to judge his parents, but it disgusted her that they would not at least teach Delilah how to defend herself. "Perhaps I can talk her into trying tomorrow?" she offered. She glanced up and saw the look of hopefulness that appeared in his eyes. She knew that Delilah and Nathaniel were close, and she found that she was glad she could help ease his mind in this regard.

Nathaniel nodded once before turning back to the door. "That would be appreciated," he replied. "But now I should let you rest since we are to be up and out early."

Bryallyn followed him to the door and told him quietly as he exited the room, "Good night, Nathaniel."

Nathaniel turned to give her a gentle smile. "Sleep well."


	6. The Hunt

The sun still had not risen by the time Bryallyn finished donning her leather armor and heard a soft knock at her door. Shouldering her pack and her bow, she reached for her cloak before exiting the room to find Nathaniel in the hall. "Good morning," she murmured, smiling up at him while closing the door behind her. She glanced him over, admiring the studded leathers he wore, noting he had donned both daggers as well as his bow for this hunting expedition. In addition, he was sporting a dark green woolen cloak. Her smile continued as she followed him down the hall.

"Good morning," he returned. "Del and Thomas are both down eating breakfast if you'd like to eat something before we leave."

"That sounds fine." They chatted softly as they walked down to the dining hall, discussing nothing of import, but amusing each other nonetheless. When they arrived, Nathaniel brought her some food and drink as Bryallyn sat at the table beside Delilah. Thomas said nothing, but he did look up once, and Bryallyn noticed the red, bloodshot eyes and smelled the scent of alcohol already consumed that morning. Glancing quickly at Nathaniel, she saw the elder Howe shake his head in disgust before turning to eat from his own plate.

Within the hour, and just as the sun began to rise, their small party left the Vigil, turning south and east. Nathaniel led the way, with Bryallyn and Delilah in the middle and Thomas dragging along behind. The girls talked softly, mostly Delilah explaining to Bryallyn where they were headed. After a time, Bryallyn said softly, "Del, if you want, I'll help you learn how to use the bow." She knew that her friend's father had forbidden the girl to learn any sort of self defense or martial art.

"Bry, I - I don't think that would be a good idea," Delilah replied a bit nervously.

"No one will say anything, Del," Bryallyn insisted. She glanced ahead to Nathaniel who had slowed down to allow them to reach him. "I bet Nathaniel would even help you learn."

The man glanced over his shoulder at Bryallyn, the look on his face saying everything. "And Thomas ..." All three turned to look at the younger Howe who was currently taking a drink from a wine skin. When he dropped the skin back to his side, he glared at the three of them. "Why would I say anything?" he demanded. "I certainly don't want to be at the end of his arm when he finds out you blatantly disregarded his wishes." Bryallyn frowned up at Nathaniel who simply shrugged, before leading them off again.

A short time later, they established a small, temporary camp to serve as a base for their day's excursion. Though they did not plan to be away from the keep for more than the day, they knew it was always a good idea to have a camp prepared in case a situation arose and they needed the space, the fire or a warm meal.

Once they were settled, a small fire blazing away in a fire pit, Bryallyn approached Delilah and asked, "Would you like me to show you how to shoot now?"

Delilah hesitated. "Bry, I appreciate the thought, and the gesture, but I really think -"

Bryallyn sighed and reached out to take her friend by the shoulder. "Del, I will not force you to learn," she promised. "If you are uncomfortable with the idea, we won't do it. I just don't see why your father won't allow you to be prepared to defend yourself if necessary!"

Nathaniel approached the two women then, murmuring, "Thomas and I will go scout around, see what we might scare up." He frowned when he saw the look of consternation on Bryallyn's face and an almost frightened look on his sister's. "What is wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," Bryallyn replied, schooling her emotions. She had promised Delilah she would not force the issue, and she was going to keep that promise. She saw Nathaniel look directly at her, but she shook her head indicating she would not discuss it. With a shrug, he turned and left, assisting his brother to his feet as he passed by him.

"You should go with them," Delilah was saying. "You are here to hunt."

Bryallyn could not hide the snort that escaped as she said, "And leave you here, defenseless? No, Del, I don't think so."

"But Bry, you came to go hunting, not to babysit me!" Delilah protested. Then with a sigh of frustration, she grumbled, "I knew I shouldn't have come along."

Bryallyn turned to face her friend, a smile inching across her face. "Del, I came to be with friends." She gestured around them. "And here I am. Enough said. Now come on, I could use some tea, what about you?"

Nodding reluctantly, Delilah followed her friend over to the fire.

* * *

It was some time later, and the two young women were chatting away amicably while sitting by the fire, that Bryallyn began to sense trouble. Setting her drink aside, she rose to her feet, reaching for her bow and an arrow in the same movement. "Del," she murmured, pointing to a tree to her left, "get up there ... now."

Delilah had seen a similar look upon her father's face before:  _do not argue with me at this moment, just do as you are told_. Setting aside her drink, she hurried over to where Bryallyn indicated. Bryallyn began searching around the camp, trying to determine the source of her unease. When her gaze drifted over to Delilah again, she saw the girl was having trouble getting herself high enough to get leverage to climb. Moving quickly, she set her bow aside and hooked her hands together as if she were giving her friend a leg-up onto a horse. "On three," she told Delilah, watching the girl put her foot on her hands. When she counted to three, she used all of her strength to hoist Delilah as high as she could and was satisfied when her friend finally managed to pull herself onto the branch above.

Bryallyn had just reached for her bow when she heard Delilah's startled gasp, and she turned ... to find a wild boar stumbling awkwardly into the camp. Bryallyn found her own breath catching at the sight: the creature was worked into a state of intense anger and pain, frothy foam at its mouth, its eyes rolling back in its head, a seemingly never ending stream of low grunts and gravely squeals.  _Oh Maker!_  she thought, sensing the creature's mood. She reached into her pocket, retrieving the healing potion she had pulled from her pack earlier when showing Delilah and talking to her about why she carried them. She set aside her bow and quiver, and slowly, carefully stepped towards the animal, all the while speaking softly, encouragingly to the beast, as her mentor had taught her so many years before.

Bryallyn watched the creature turn towards her, hearing the sound of her voice, moving in her direction. Though still agitated, it seemed to calm somewhat, its breathing calming slightly, its vocalizations slowing in frequency and lowering in pitch. Bryallyn considered her options. She could see from a glance to the side of the animal that it had been injured, either accidentally or deliberately, and blood was flowing freely from a gash on its side.  _You are a handsome beast,_  she thought,  _though severely injured. I'm not sure if all of the potions I have with me would be enough to help you, though it might be a close thing. Will you let me assist you? Will you accept help from your natural enemy?_

"Bry?"

Bryallyn heard the fear in Delilah's voice. Taking just a moment, and raising her voice only slightly, she told her friend in a calm voice, "It's okay, Del. He won't hurt me if I am very careful. Remember, this is where my training is ..."

Bryallyn turned her focus back to the boar, murmuring further. She extended her right hand, palm up, allowing it to make its own decision. She saw the creature visibly shudder, listening to her voice, taking it to heart ... when an inordinately loud, crashing, thrashing noise from the side of the camp disrupted the connection between human and animal ... and then Thomas' voice shouted, " _There_  you are, you damnable beast!"

Bryallyn's focus was solely on the animal, and she was so close to communicating with it -  _too_  close ...

* * *

Nathaniel heard Thomas' shout from nearby and turned to follow it. As he neared the camp, he finally spotted his brother shouting and stumbling across the open space; his sister up in a tree, crying out in alarm and Bryallyn ... "Maker's mercy, no!" he cried, leaping forward and drawing his bow at the same time.

Bryallyn began by backing away from the animal slowly, moving in the direction of the tree where Delilah had taken refuge. However, as Thomas began yelling again and the animal chose to attack to defend itself, she became the first target in its way ...  _Maker help me, I'll never make it!_

Nathaniel hated to do it, but knew it was Bryallyn's only chance. Taking his shot from the far side of the camp, he watched it hit the beast in the side. The creature, now insane with rage, did not stop moving, nor even slow that much. Nathaniel felt his heart lurch as he watched Bryallyn take a direct hit from behind while running towards the tree: the animal charged, catching her leg with its tusks through her boot and into her lower leg, jerking it's head sharply and tossing her forward. Still running, Nathaniel reached for one of his daggers, tossed it until he could grasp the blade with his hand, then threw it as hard as he could towards the boar, catching the wild beast through its side, the sheer force of the throw knocking the animal over where it convulsed several times before ceasing all movement and sound.

Delilah dropped from the tree limb the moment she saw the wild pig go down. Immediately turning, she ran towards Thomas and started hitting at him. "You fool! You stupid drunken lout! What the Maker were you thinking?" she screamed at him.

Nathaniel dropped to his knees beside Bryallyn, turning her carefully over so that she was face up. "Bry!" he called, watching her eyes struggle to hold his gaze. She was already in shock apparently, most likely due to the pain and, he glanced at her leg, rapid blood loss. Nathaniel reached first for his cloak, yanking it off and using his other dagger to tear it into strips. Turning, he shouted, "Del! Find her pack - Bry carries healing potions in it ..."

Delilah shoved Thomas away from her and went in search of the pack. "She had it out earlier," she called back to him. "Check her hands or pocket - she had one when she was trying to get to that ... that creature!"

Nathaniel was leaning over Bryallyn, talking to her about anything that came to mind, frantically wrapping the wounds with strips from his cloak as he tried to stop the bleeding. As soon as he finished the latest one, he reached for her hands in search of the health potion. "Bry? Bry! Del says you had a potion. Do you have it still?" He pried open her fingers of her right hand and found it in her palm.  _Good girl!_  he thought to himself. Taking the small vial, he opened it and lifted her head. "Bry?" he called softly, lifting her head so that he could pour the liquid into her mouth. "Come on, sweetheart, drink it down."

Delilah hurried over, kneeling by her friend's other side. She set the pack beside her and began rummaging through it. In addition to three more health potions, she found some bandages and handed them to her brother. Biting her lower lip, she glanced over at Nathaniel. "I should go back and get help, shouldn't I?"

Nathaniel spared her a brief look. "Go, and take Thomas with you." He held his sister's gaze for a brief moment. "Hurry!" he urged. "I won't be able to get her back much farther than the main road. Send someone to meet us there."

Delilah nodded and looked over to where Thomas was still stumbling to his feet. Sighing softly, she rose and went to assist him. "Come on,  _brother_ ," she hissed. "We are going to get help, and if you are very fortunate, Father will forgive your transgression today ..."

Nathaniel continued working on Bryallyn's leg. Once he felt he had the bleeding covered, somewhat stemmed, he turned back to feed her another of the small health potions from her pack. "Bry, come on and drink up," he murmured, lifting her head again. He saw that she was still conscious, but doubted sincerely that she was aware of what he was saying. She began to struggle against the bitter taste of the potion, but he poured it into her mouth in small amounts.

Bryallyn began choking on the foul tasting liquid, but also could feel it trying to work its way through her body to the injured area. She felt little tremors beginning throughout her body and groaned. She felt Nathaniel lift her more, pulling her against him. "Hold on a moment," he told her. "Let the potion do its work."

Bryallyn's world was a haze of pain, but she heard his voice, the request, and tried to nod, ... then felt her world spinning as she did so. She thought she might have groaned again.

Nathaniel leaned down near her ear and murmured, "I'm going to set you down for just a moment, Bry. I'll be right back." So saying, he gently laid her upon the ground and crossed the camp to retrieve her cloak that she had left near the now dying fire. As he returned, he kicked dirt over the remains of the fire, knowing they would be leaving shortly. The last thing he wanted to worry about was a fire spreading from carelessness.

Bryallyn felt Nathaniel lifting her again moments later, pulling her against him until she was sitting upright. She felt him settle her cloak around her shoulders, hooking it at her throat. "Do you think you can stand yet? We need to start heading back towards the keep."

Bryallyn shuddered a bit harder, uncontrollably, unexpectedly.  _What is going on?_  she asked herself. She felt something cool placed in her hand and looked down to see a third health potion. "How ... many are left?" she finally managed.

"After that, one," he replied as he closed up the pack and shouldered it. He moved slowly, carefully, to replace his blades at his waist and shoulder his bow as well.

Bryallyn handed the one in her hand back to him. "Keep it," she insisted. "We might need it later."

Nathaniel moved to check the bandages. When he turned back to face her again, his look was grim. "Drink," was all he said.

Bryallyn opened her mouth to protest again, only to have him take the vial, uncork it and dump the contents into her mouth in one fell swoop. Then, giving her a hard look, he ordered harshly, "Swallow it." Bryallyn was so startled by his maneuver that she couldn't help but follow his instructions. Moments later, she was frowning in distaste.

Stepping away from her for a moment, Nathaniel rose to his feet. Reaching down, he had her take one of his arms while the other moved to support her back as he lifted her to her feet. He kept his arm at her back until she was steady. "Can you stand on it?"

Bryallyn tried putting weight on her leg ... only to have Nate catch her as the limb buckled beneath her from the intense pain. "Give it a moment," she said, her voice sounding harsh with the sudden rush of pain. "The potions are helping, but not ... quite ... ready ..."

Nathaniel shook his head. Removing his bow and quiver, he told her, "Climb on," before bending over slightly so she could reach her arms around his neck.

"Nathaniel, I'm not so sure this is a good idea -"

"Get on!" he barked. He tried to be careful of her injury as he settled her legs around his waist, but he felt her cringe in pain. "Just think of me as a glorified horse," he joked a moment later as he started off.

They made slow progress, but that was to be expected. Nathaniel was hoping simply to get to the main road, the well-worn path that he hoped would soon be leading help in their direction as soon as Delilah made it to the keep. As they journeyed, Nathaniel tried to keep Bryallyn talking, or at the very least reacting to his comments. He would travel a short distance, then pause for a bit during which Bryallyn would insist on standing on her good leg while leaning against a tree. Reluctantly, Nathaniel would allow this because he knew that he needed to catch his breath and rest as well, or they would both need assistance. In the end, what had taken them originally about fifteen to twenty minutes to travel inland, now took them over an hour to do in reverse.

Nathaniel finally saw the road in front of them and paused one last time. They were on the edge of the forest, the sun high over head, and he did not want to take Bryallyn out in the direct sunlight of the day until he was sure that they had a better method of travel waiting for them. Glancing in the direction of the keep, he saw no one approaching as of yet, and realized that Delilah and Thomas would only have just recently made it back, assuming that his sister had been able to keep his brother moving.

"Nathaniel ...?

He turned to see Bryallyn slowly sinking to the ground while propped against a tree. Rushing to her side, he managed to catch her just before she fell. Seating himself first, he pulled her onto his lap. "Hang on, Bry," he told her as he lifted a hand to her forehead. She was pale, sweaty, and with a glance to her injured leg, he could see that the bleeding had started up again. He opened the pack she now carried and took out the last health potion. Using his teeth to uncork it, he lifted it to her lips and started feeding it to her slowly. "Drink, love," he murmured near her ear. As he poured the potion past her lips, he felt a panic beginning to settle upon him.  _Why is she behaving like this? She should not be suffering from this type of reaction from mere puncture wounds!_

Bryallyn was finding it difficult to focus.  _So tired ... want to sleep ..._

"Bry!"

She jerked, her eyes blinking open, her breath snagging in her lungs. Turning her head, she lifted her gaze to his.  _Floating ... no worries ..._  Instinctively, convulsively, she swallowed as Nathaniel poured the liquid between her lips. "Tell ... parents ..."

Nathaniel shook her as gently as he could. "No!" he roared when she collapsed against him. "Bry, wake up! Open those beautiful eyes for me!" It was while he was struggling to get her to respond that Nathaniel heard the thundering sound of hoof beats approaching. Turning to look in the direction of the keep, he saw two large beasts, ones he did not recognize ... until he saw their riders. As quickly as he could, Nathaniel rose to his feet and lifted Bryallyn into his arms. "Your parents are here, Bry! Wake up!"


	7. Sickroom

Nathaniel stumbled as he approached the riders, barely managing to keep his feet under him and noting as he did so the horses were shifting around, shying away from him, from the smell of Bryallyn's blood. He glanced up at the Teyrn of Highever. Carefully lifting Bryallyn to her father, he said, "She needs help immediately ... right leg ... wild boar ..."

Bryce took his daughter in his arms, pulling her up in front of him, holding her close with his right arm while his wife adjusted the girl's position so that her injured leg would not rub or flop around as he rode back to the keep as fast as the animal would take them. "Go!" Eleanor told him urgently when she was done. Without waiting to be told twice, Bryce spurred his horse into action.

Eleanor glanced down at Nathaniel after her husband's departure and offered him her arm while removing her foot from its stirrup so he had something to assist in mounting. "Mount up behind me," she told him firmly.

Nathaniel blinked up at her, stepping backwards a step for the moment. "Your Grace ...?"

Eleanor caught his worried gaze, the emotions running wild behind eyes as dark as clouds on a rainy day. As she watched, she noticed something else ... something she wondered if either he or Bryallyn had figured out yet ... "Nathaniel," she said in a voice that was slightly less controlling, "we must get back to the keep so you can be with my daughter, yes?" She almost laughed at the look that passed over his eyes then: shock, sudden realization, ... the consternation that she had figured him out so easily. Lowering her arm to him again, she watched as he finally took it, lifted his foot to the stirrup and hoisted himself behind her. The moment he seated himself, she turned the steed and raced off in the direction of Vigil's Keep.

* * *

Nathaniel led the teyrna into the keep, both of them moving at a fast clip passing servants left and right. As they hurried, Nathaniel had half a wonder as to where his father and mother might be throughout this fiasco, but the thought fled as they neared Bryallyn's room and entered to find Bryce Cousland lifting his daughter into his arms once more as a mage - Ceila Amreth, the resident healing mage at Vigil's Keep - began stripping the bedding down and off the bed. Nathaniel moved quickly, for he had worked with Ceila before, and assisted her so that she could begin working on her patient. The moment Bryce had lowered Bryallyn to the bed again, the mage was reaching towards the impromptu bandages that Nathaniel had applied out in the woods.

"Tell me what happened," she said to Nathaniel as he entered the room, her slightly accented voice a balm to his frayed nerves while she carefully began removing the bandages.

Nathaniel began to do just that as he pulled a dagger from its sheath and began slicing the blood-soaked strips of cloth from his friend's leg. As he did so, he made specific mention Bryallyn's atypical reactions as a result of the wounds. "Ceila, her reactions are so strange, so unlike what you would expect for a puncture wound," he told her.

Ceila handed him another set of bandages to temporarily wrap the wound in and he moved quickly to do so. "She may have other injuries," Ceila replied quietly. "You mentioned that the beast tossed her, yes?"

Nathaniel nodded. During this time, he focused on the healer and on Bryallyn's wounds rather than the teyrn and teyrna who were standing behind him.  _Coward!_  he thought to himself at first, but then realized that if they thought as much of him, they certainly would not be allowing him to stay and tend their daughter.

Ceila reached out and placed her hands over Bryallyn's body, not quite touching the skin, but close enough so that the blue energy emanating from her hands could make contact with Bryallyn's body. "Ah," she murmured, her hands moving slowly from head to toe, "I see." She said nothing more for the moment, and when Nathaniel would have spoken, she gave him a hard look and shook her head before turning towards a bag she had set upon the nearby table. Sorting through some of her things, she lifted out a jar, a few vials of healing potions, a few more of what appeared to be lyrium potions, and some more bandages. Turning back to Nathaniel, she said, "I'm going to need hot water, and some strong arms."

Eleanor stepped forward then. "I will get the water," she announced, taking just a moment to squeeze Nathaniel's arm. "You stay and help," she told him quietly before turning to leave.

Nathaniel was distracted for just a moment by the teyrna's easy acceptance of his role here, and he spared a brief look at the teyrn. Bryce, he saw, stepped forward then, concern for his daughter in his eyes. Nathaniel noticed that the words that he and Ceila had exchanged had hit the older man hard, and for the briefest of moments, he had to wonder if the man would ask him to leave his daughter's side if he knew the entire story of what had happened. But, when their eyes caught, Bryce simply nodded for him to continue what he was doing.

Nathaniel turned his attention back to Bryallyn as he heard her moan softly, her body spasming slightly. Ceila stepped forward and generated a green energy this time, aiming for Bryallyn's mid-section. When she finished a short time later, the mage started to reach carefully for the buckles of her armor. "We need to get her out of this and make her comfortable," Ceila announced, "but we need to be careful. She had some broken ribs causing bleeding inside of her. The ribs have been mended now, but we need to be cautious as they are still knitting together."

 _Internal bleeding? Was THAT why she reacted the way she did?_  he wondered. Nathaniel stepped to the head of the bed to gently lift Bryallyn so that he could begin unbuckling her cuirass. As he did so, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that her father moved to her other side to begin removing the bracers and gloves, shoulder pauldrons and then begin working on the buckles to the leather skirt.

Once the cuirass had been removed, Nathaniel felt Ceila move beside him again. "We need to wrap up her ribs," she told him while handing over a large rolled linen bandage. Turning towards Bryce, she asked, "Your Grace? Would you hold her upright while Nate bandages her mid-section please? The ribs are healing now, but they need to be held in place." Bryce nodded and moved into a position where Bryallyn could lean back against his shoulder while Nathaniel, under Ceila's expert guidance, began setting the bandage.

When Bryallyn was once more lying flat on the bed, Nathaniel then moved to remove her boots; first the one from her uninjured leg, and then to slice the remnants from her right leg. At this point, Ceila returned to his side again, assisting him by holding the now bloodied second set of bandages as he removed what he could of the damaged boot. He took a moment to glance at the mage's face. "I am surprised there is not more blood," he said quietly. He knew without saying it aloud that there would be bits of leather, dirt, other debris in the wound as he had not taken the time to clean it properly at their camp.

Reading his concerns on his face, Ceila smiled at him. "Much of her bleeding is internal. Trust me, Nate, you did the right thing," she said using the family nickname for him. "Each of those health potions you gave her, spaced out as you did, helped her stay alive. Each one did just enough - slowing the blood flow, healing just enough of the wound - so she could get back here to the keep where I can help her now."

Eleanor entered the room just then, carrying a large pot filled with steaming water. "Where would you like this?" she asked.

Ceila pointed to the table. "There please, your Grace, we will need it momentarily."

Eleanor returned to her husband's side as they moved away from the bed. Her eyes focused on her daughter, now lying only in her small clothes and bandages.

Ceila pulled a clean cloth from the pile on the table while testing the temperature of the water with her other hand. Soaking the cloth through, she wrung it out and handed it to Nathaniel. "Clean the wound out ... all of it. She will likely start thrashing about without some assistance," the mage warned while giving the parents a look, "so I want to cast a sleep spell upon her first. Once we irrigate her wounds, they will bleed more, but we want that. The more it bleeds at this point, the cleaner the wounds will be to heal." As she explained this for the benefit of Bryce and Eleanor, Ceila began casting the sleep spell upon Bryallyn.

Eleanor stepped forward then to hold her daughter's hand on one side, while Bryce moved to the other side for the same purpose. "Go ahead, Nathaniel," the teyrna told him after a moment. "Do what needs to be done."

Nathaniel swallowed hard.  _Oh Maker, please don't let me hurt her!_  he prayed as he took Bryallyn's leg in his hands and turned it so that he could cleanse the wound. As he did so, Ceila removed the bandages, allowing them to lie beneath the leg to protect the bedding, but reaching for clean ones as well as the jar of salve she had retrieved from her bag earlier.

Nathaniel tried to hurry with his task, but he was thorough. He knew that every bit of foreign matter had to be removed from the wounds or Bryallyn could get an infection and ultimately die. His hands began to shake with the sheer amount of force he expended in order to keep himself focused on the task.

Though Bryallyn was not moving, Bryce began murmuring near his daughter's ear, his voice calm, collected and soothing. "You are doing fine, Pup. Let them clean the wound, we don't want infection setting in." Eleanor soon added from her side, "I'm so proud of you, my darling! You are such a fighter!"

Nathaniel handed the now dirtied cloth over to Ceila who rinsed it and handed it back again.  _Maker give me strength!_  he prayed as he continued.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, and several changed cloths, Ceila pronounced that the wound was clean. She then handed Nathaniel the jar of salve and gave him instructions on how she wanted it applied. Turning towards Bryce, she handed him a health potion, a larger dose than the ones Bryallyn had taken before, and stepped beside him, reaching down to touch Bryallyn's forehead with a golden yellow glow. "I am removing the sleep spell so that, when we are finished, she will be able to heal in a natural sleep. This will be easier for us to monitor her progress as well," she explained. "When I am ready, I will tell you to give her the potion, your Grace." He nodded and shifted it so he could feed it to his daughter when the time came.

Reaching for the last set of bandages, Ceila changed them out for the dirtied ones below Bryallyn's leg and then moved beside Nathaniel. "When I tell you to," she told the young man, "I want you to set her leg onto the bandages. I am going to use a healing spell at the same time she takes the healing potion." When he glanced up at her in question, she explained, "I have found that this will quicken the healing process just a bit. As I do that, I will need you to start tying off the bandage to her leg, making sure it is secure but not too tight. Understood?"

Nathaniel nodded solemnly. "Understood," he told her.

Ceila positioned herself, a green energy suddenly building up at her fingertips. Nathaniel recognized the healing magic as he had been a recipient of it in past. "Your Grace," the mage murmured, "give it to her now, please ... all of it at once."

Bryce lifted his daughter, his wife shifting her position to support Bryallyn's back in order to hold her upright so she would not choke on the liquid. Opening the flask, he poured the contents in, murmuring into her ear, "Drink it down, Pup, all of it. That's my fierce girl!"

Nathaniel lowered Bryallyn's leg to the bed, moving to strap off the bandage as quickly as he could. As he did, he could see the magical energy flowing towards the wound, the flesh on Bryallyn's leg beginning to knit together and almost caught himself more fascinated by that than in focusing his attention where it was needed, but he caught himself in time. Once the bandage was in place, Nathaniel stepped back out of the way and simply observed.

Ceila Amreth was still a woman of mystery to Nathaniel. She had been brought into the family household while very young, when he had still been a child, though she did not look as old as his parents. He supposed she was about fifteen years his senior, and he certainly could not fault her talent. Aside from the various injuries a child might experience in his youth, Nathaniel had seen her heal others, and when she had asked for his assistance once, and requested it further afterwards, he had found that she had taken an interest in his calm, cool, collected demeanor during a crisis.

Now, he noticed that the woman's spell was beginning to trail off, and he could visibly see the exhaustion on her features. Stepping forward, he offered her his arm and noted her smile as she took it, directing him to lead her to the chair near the table with her supplies. "I will be fine in a moment," she assured him, noticing his concern.

Nathaniel smiled tolerantly, but continued to assist her. "Thank you, Ceila," he murmured.

He was not surprised when she patted his hand. "We can't be letting the guests die off, now can we?" she teased.

Nathaniel snorted softly at her humor, as off-beat as it was, before turning back towards the Couslands. He found Bryce straightening, stretching his back which Nathaniel was sure had gone stiff being bent over his daughter for so long. And the teyrna ... Nathaniel hurried around the bed to her side, assisting her to her feet as Bryce held Bryallyn. "Your Grace, allow me, please," he told her, taking the seat where Eleanor had been, moving into position so that Bryallyn could lean back against him.

Eleanor swallowed an amused smile as she glanced over at her husband. "Will she be all right?" she asked the mage.

Ceila nodded. "She will be fine in a few days," she explained. "The most important thing now that the wounds are cleaned out and bandaged, as are her ribs. What remains is for her to recover from the internal blood loss which her body will take care of on its own. Master Nathaniel here," she gestured towards the young man, "made all of the right decisions in order to get her back here for me to treat."

Eleanor stepped forward then and leaned over to kiss the top of Nathaniel's head. "Thank you," she told him with an affectionate squeeze to his shoulder as well. Bryce noticed the younger man blushing at his wife's attentions, and pulled Eleanor to his side. "When do you think she might wake?" he asked Ceila.

"That is difficult to say. I would think it would not be before morning, though," she added. Then with a gentle smile, she suggested, "I would advise you both to get some rest. Aside from the assistance you provided, the stress of seeing your daughter so severely injured surely must have worn you out."

Eleanor nodded, leaning into her husband's embrace as he slid an arm around her shoulders. "That sounds like a good idea," she murmured, suddenly overcome with exhaustion.

Nathaniel watched the Couslands depart, while adjusting his position just slightly behind Bryallyn. "Ceila?" he asked softly after they were gone, "were you telling them the truth?"

Ceila gave him a sidelong glance. "Which? The part about your actions, or the part about her chances?"

"Both."

The mage smiled at him, a sparkle in her eyes. "Yes," she replied before managing to get to her feet. She set another health potion on the small table beside the bed, well within Nathaniel's reach. "I am going to my chambers to rest for a while as well," she told him. "Teyrn Cousland, I believe, was going to set a guard outside the door, if you should need anything." Gesturing to the potion, she added, "That is only if she should begin to get feverish, chills, sweat ... you remember when Delilah had the ague so bad?" She saw him nod. "Do not give it to her unless she meets those same conditions. Otherwise, I will have some willow bark tea sent up for you to feed her periodically to try to keep her temperature manageable."

"Understood," he replied quietly.

With a final smile, the woman gathered her things, replacing them in her bag, and left the room.

Nathaniel shifted slightly, easing himself into a more comfortable position against the bed frame. With Bryallyn lying against him like this, he didn't know if he could get into a position where he could sleep, but when he thought about it he realized that he didn't really care. "You, my friend, have given us all quite a scare," he murmured as he felt the adrenaline that had been keeping him going for most of the past few hours beginning to fade away.  _Okay, so maybe I will be able to sleep_..., he told himself as he felt the first stirrings of exhaustion catch up with him. "Let's see what we can do now to get you focused on healing, hmm?" As he began to drift off, Nathaniel slid his arms carefully around Bryallyn's mid-section, mindful of her ribs, his hands lacing atop the covers and above her wrapped ribs in an effort to keep her from falling as much as keep a feel for any change in her condition.


	8. Recovery

Delilah was nearly silent as she slid into the room, having sweet talked the Highever guard into allowing her to visit since her brother was inside. Of course, it helped that she was bringing him something to eat for the evening meal.

The lighting was dim inside the room, save for the fire in the hearth. Outside the light of the day had given way to the usual darkness of night. Carefully, Delilah crossed the room to place the food at the table. She knew Nathaniel had heard her; he always did. She had never even tried to be stealthy around him. Turning, she walked to the bedside and glanced down with concern at her friend, sleeping heavily within her brother's arms. Reaching a hand out, she brushed some of Bryallyn's loose hair back from her face. Lifting her gaze slightly, she caught her brother staring up at her. She gave him a small smile. "I brought you some food, Nate," she told him softly. "If you like, I can sit with her while you eat."

Nathaniel actually agreed to this, shifting his body to the side so that his sister could take his place sitting behind Bryallyn. Once he was sure that Delilah was in a comfortable position, he rose. The first thing he did was remove his leathers, something he had not had time to do earlier, and now he felt his body sigh in relief as the armor was finally removed and he remained in the simple tunic and breeches he wore beneath. He turned and saw his sister grin at him. He returned the smile.

Next, he moved towards the table, sitting at one of the chairs there and eating the meal in front of him. As he did, he lifted his gaze to the bed where he watched his sister speak softly to Bryallyn, gently combing their injured friend's hair with her fingers. The two girls weren't the greatest of friends, but Nathaniel knew they respected each other, and their friendship seemed to grow more each time they were together. He allowed his thoughts to drift back to that morning as they had been walking to the woods.  _Bry offered to teach Del to shoot ... she didn't like the the idea of Del not being able to defend herself ..._  Nathaniel had to wonder why his sister had refused, though it didn't take too much to understand the source of her concern: Rendon Howe. Though he had spent the past eight years or so with Arl Bryland at South Reach, he remembered a time right before his departure when Delilah had followed him out begging him to show her how to use his bow. Rendon had been at the archery field and had firmly, if harshly, denied his daughter the opportunity. "You are female," he had declared in a loud booming voice not simply for her benefit, but for any of his men who might wish to go against his decision, "and as such you will prepare yourself for service and obeisance to your husband, not in wielding weapons meant for a man."

Frowning at the memories and feeling a rising flood of irritation, for he had seen all too clearly this afternoon how close his sister could have come to losing her life if not for the quick thinking of a female warrior, Nathaniel began to center his thoughts on what had caused the situation in the first place. Or, rather, who: Thomas. Nathaniel had taken time to explain to his brother the purpose of their venture: to locate prey so that they could hunt together. He now realized that his brother had either purposefully disregarded his words, or in his (increasingly perpetual) drunken state had forgotten. Nathaniel now turned his attention towards his sister and asked, "How was dinner tonight, Del?"

Delilah glanced up at him. "What do you mean?"

"Mother, more specifically Father ... around the teyrn and teyrna ... was there ... trouble?"

Delilah breathed, "Ahh," as she finally realized what he was asking. "Well, it was a little tense at first, but mostly because Father was still angry with Thomas."

Nathaniel hissed beneath his breath. "I assume Father knows the 'accident' was Thomas' fault?"

Delilah nodded. "Yes. Though, the teyrn would not openly accuse him, simply blamed it on misfortunes of hunting." Their eyes met and held. "Thomas did not come to dinner this evening."

Nathaniel sighed.  _Not surprising._  "Because he was humiliated or because he'd drunk himself into a stupor?"

Delilah shook her head. "I did not ask, Nathaniel. It's often better not to know." She saw him nod. "On a side note, however, the teyrna did ask me to bring you the food, concerned that you have a chance to eat, and to tell you again how grateful they are for your quick thinking and reactions that helped save Bry."

Nathaniel smiled at her in return. "You were pretty fast too, little sister. I was surprised that the teyrn and teyrna met us on the road as quickly as they did."

Delilah actually chuckled at this. "Yes, well, let's just say that by the time we reached the keep I'd blistered Thomas' ears pretty bad. I'm not sure which bothered him more: that or his subsequent discussion with Father."

Nathaniel took a last bite of food and sat back in his chair. After another moment spent simply sitting easily, allowing his body to relax for the first time all day, Nathaniel rose and returned to the bed. "Thanks, Del," he told her as he traded positions with her. He smiled as she shifted a pillow behind him and made sure he was comfortable. Before she stepped back, he reached out and squeezed her arm. "Thank you," he repeated, glancing up into her eyes. "I know I don't tell you -"

Delilah smiled, placing a hand over his mouth. "Don't, brother," she told him. With a wink, she added, "I know you and Father increasingly do not see eye to eye, and for that I am sorry. But I will never be sorry that you have turned out to be a decent person, looking out for people like me. This is just one small way I can thank you." She glanced down at Bryallyn. "And her," she added. "Ceila says she will be all right, yes?"

Nathaniel nodded. "Yes. She just needs to recover from the blood she lost."

With a nod, Delilah retrieved the tray from the table and turned towards the door. "I will bring you breakfast in the morning if you like?" She saw him smile first, then nod. "Good. Can't have you getting sick too, you know!"

Nathaniel found himself chuckling as his sister departed. He spared a glance down at the young woman in his arms and allowed his thoughts to drift ...

* * *

_The sky was dark, but it was not night, nor was there a storm. There was, however, noise ... danger ... something headed in her direction. She glanced around the unfamiliar surroundings, bushes, trees, boulders all blended together. "Hello?" she called as she slowly wandered in what seemed to be circles. "Is anyone here?"_

_The bushes to the left began to rustle, and Bryallyn found herself reaching for her bow. But where her weapon should have been she found only her backpack. Before she could do more than wonder at this, she saw the creature break through the shrubs ..._

_A wolf ... and a large, dark one at that ... but, not a wolf at the same time. Frowning, she tried to communicate with it as her mentor had taught her. She was more than disconcerted that the animal did not respond to her. With an angry menacing growl, the beast leapt forward landing directly in front of her path. Bryallyn found herself struggling to keep calm. Her heart was racing; she could feel sweat trickling down the back of her neck, her temples; tremors shaking her now frozen limbs ..._

Bryallyn's eyes shot open as she gasped in for air, feeling almost as if she could not pull enough into her lungs. She felt something holding her back, keeping her from moving, and as she fought against it, she felt the bands tightening around her.

"Bry, stop it!" Nathaniel growled, keeping his arms solid around her. For the past several minutes, she had been fighting him almost violently. It had taken him a moment to wake up and react, but he'd managed to get a guard's attention and sent him to fetch Ceila. "Bryallyn!" he called again.

Bryallyn finally heard the voice breaking through the remaining fog of her dream, pulling her back to the present. It took several moments longer, but she finally placed the voice. "Nathaniel?" she croaked. Blinking, she glanced around the dark room, realized she was in bed ... and Nathaniel had his arms around her ...

"It's all right, Bry," he told her as he loosened his hold and began touching her forehead, her back, her neck ... the places Ceila had taught him long ago to check for fever. "You are in your room at Vigil's Keep."

 _Vigil's Keep?_  Frowning, she started to turn to face him ... until the movement of her leg sent a shot of pain through her lower right leg so intense that she couldn't hold a cry back.

"Easy," he told her softly. He shifted his position, moving so that she could lean back against the pillows. He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand in his. "Better now?" he asked. He watched her nod. "Good."

Bryallyn looked up at him as her memories began returning ... "How ... how bad is it?" she whispered.

Nathaniel reached out to brush some of the loose hair away from her face. "I will not lie to you - it was bad. Plus you had broken ribs as well. What do you remember?"

Bryallyn sighed. "I remember ... being so sleepy ..."

Nathaniel reached out to touch Bryallyn's forehead again, her neck, her shoulder. He was much more satisfied with what he felt now. "You had internal bleeding by then," he explained, "though I did not know it at the time. Your parents arrived a few moments later and brought us back here. Do you remember anything after that?"

Bryallyn took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she thought. "Nothing very ... clear," she finally admitted. "I remember pain ..." She frowned. "I do not remember anything very specific ..."

Nathaniel took her hand in his, squeezing it gently. "That is not a surprise," he told her. He was about to expand further when he heard the door behind him opening. Turning slightly, he saw Ceila slipping into the room and crossing to the bed. "Bry, this is our healing mage, Ceila Amreth. She is the one responsible for fixing up your leg."

Bryallyn glanced up at the woman, offering a slight smile. "Thank you," she murmured as she watched the woman begin examining her leg and then the bandage around her mid-section.

Ceila smiled at the young woman. "You are very fortunate to have had young Nathaniel with you," she explained as she checked Bryallyn's leg before feeling her forehead, her neck, her back ... the same places Nathaniel had been checking moments before. "It was his quick thinking that saved you."

Bryallyn nodded slowly, wincing as the woman touched the bandaged leg just before feeling the warmth of healing magic upon her wounds. Glancing up at Nathaniel, she saw he had blushed at the woman's praise, but remained at her side nonetheless. Bryallyn squeezed his hand gently with what strength she could spare. "Then I will thank you both for your attentions," she announced as the mage pulled back, nodding in satisfaction.

Ceila smiled at her and nodded. "You would do well to rest more, young lady, and remain off of your leg for a few days." When she saw Bryallyn open her mouth to protest, Ceila raised a hand for silence and said, "I understand you are to leave in a few days, and I have already spoken with Teyrn Cousland and Arl Howe in this regard. There will be alternative arrangements for you on your return home. I would advise you refrain from riding or any other strenuous activity for at least the next four to six weeks. Have you a healing mage at your keep?"

Bryallyn nodded. "Yes, we do. And we also have Nan." At the woman's puzzled expression, Bryallyn actually laughed. "She used to be my nanny before becoming our cook. She is well versed in medicines and caring for us when we were young and would get injured."

Ceila smiled. "Ah, I see. I will examine you again before you leave then, and we shall see how you are doing. If further treatment is necessary at that point, I will write instructions for your mage and Nan to follow. Yes?"

Bryallyn nodded. "Thank you, Ceila."

After a few further instructions, Ceila gathered her things and rose to leave. "Master Nathaniel, I would suggest you get some restful sleep as well before morning. Bryallyn will be fine for the rest of the night on her own."

Nathaniel, still facing Bryallyn grinned at her. "I will take that under advisement, Ceila. Thank you," he returned, hearing the woman chuckle on her way out the door.

Once the door had been closed, Nathaniel felt Bryallyn squeeze his hand again. "Thank you," he heard her whisper. Smiling, he squeezed her hand back gently. "I can't go losing my best friend because of my brother's drunken stupidity, now can I?"

Bryallyn smiled tiredly, feeling herself drifting off as the healing magic eased the pain of her leg and worked on the injury there. Blinking drowsily, she murmured, "Go get some rest ... you've done enough for me today ..."

Nathaniel watched Bryallyn drift off to sleep once more before releasing her hand and rising to his feet. Despite what both she and Ceila had told him he crossed over to one of the more comfortable chairs in the room, found a blanket and settled in for the remainder of the night which, with a quick glance out of the window, he knew would not be for much more than another few hours.


	9. Growing

_**18 August, Dragon 9:25** _

_Bryallyn,_

_Given your condition upon your departure from Amaranthine some months ago, we wished to write expressing our thankfulness at hearing that you are faring much better these days. I do not think we shall ever forget seeing you lying upon that wagon cart (though, I must admit, that Del and I both had grins upon our faces - carefully hidden of course - when you started arguing with your father! I don't think I have ever seen anyone turn quite that shade of ... red? Wherever you pulled your knowledge of curses, my friend, I hope he never found out or they might find themselves in need of a new position!). At any rate, we were both relieved to hear that not only did you and your family return safely to Highever, but that you have since completely recovered. For what it is worth, Thomas still hides behind the bottle, though I suspect he will be more careful from here on out._

_Additionally, Delilah asked that I inform you (as I am sure you well know by now, but little sisters can be so ... what is the word? Insistent? (annoying is more like!)) that we will all be in attendance upon our visit to Highever later this month. I expect to see you well, my friend, and quite recovered so that, if not a hunt, we may at least compete upon the archery lists once more. No sense in our skills going to waste, yes?_

_Yours in friendship,_

_Nathaniel & Delilah Howe_

 

* * *

 

The target was hanging in place on the oversized tree stump at the far end of the field, an arrow already present in the center. Nocking her arrow, Bryallyn placed her index finger above and her second and third fingers below the missile before curling her fingers and lightly tugging the bowstring. As she lifted the bow above her, settling it into position at the height of her shoulders, Bryallyn felt a trickle of sweat trail it's way down the back of her neck. She breathed slowly, evenly, focusing her aim, adjusting for the wind. She ignored the sounds around her, of which there were many, including Fergus who was doing his level best to make her miss by diverting her focus through loud whistles and cheers. Drawing the bowstring as far back as she could, her hand coming to pause her ear, she loosed her shot ...

Bryallyn held her breath as the arrow took flight ... and shattered the missile already embedded in the center of the target. Turning her gaze, she asked softly, "Have I proved myself yet, Mother?"

Eleanor Cousland glanced down at her daughter. Both were dressed in similar armor, armed with their best weapons. Occasionally, and with great fanfare, they would hold competitions against each other as they were the best shots in the area surrounding Highever. Sometimes they would hold the events outside the town walls where the townsfolk could come and watch. Other times, like this day, they would hold the event inside the castle grounds, a more private atmosphere for family, selected friends and the soldiers of Highever. Eleanor's serious features gently curved into one of pride and slight amusement now as she turned towards Bryallyn. "Yes, my darling," the teyrna told her, lifting a hand to her daughter's shoulder and pull her close for a hug, "I believe you have finally surpassed my skill level and proved yourself to be the best!"

Bryallyn blushed but accepted the praise. It had been a hard fought battle against her mother since she'd first begun teaching Bryallyn how to use the weapon at age six. As mother and daughter began to walk towards the small grouping, including Bryce, Fergus, Oriana and Oren, Eleanor handed the bow she was carrying to her daughter. "Here," she said softly, her gaze upon her husband as she spoke. "I think it is time I passed this along to you."

Bryallyn stopped walking, suddenly overcome. "Mo-mother," she gasped in shock, "this ... this is  _Wicked Grace_! *****  You can't give this to me!"

Eleanor joined her husband by his side, hugging him lightly before smiling over at her daughter. "I can, Bry, and I am."

"But ... but ... King Maric himself gave this to you!"

Bryce laughed aloud and told her, "That is true, pup, but I'm sure Maric would have approved of your mother's decision had he seen what an excellent archer you've become."

Bryallyn was at a loss at that moment. She lifted her gaze from the beautifully crafted weapon in her hands, complete with two emerald cabochons that matched the color of her mother's eyes, her eyes seeking Eleanor's. "Mama ...?" she whispered.

Smiling widely, Eleanor stepped back to her daughter's side and hugged her close. "Take it, Bry," she murmured, "and use it well and in good health. May it and the Maker always keep you safe and guide your hand."

Hugging her mother close, Bryallyn missed her brother leading his small family off towards the dining hall to find some of Nan's fabulous refreshments waiting them, his own smile of pride and satisfaction in his sister's performance clear for all to see. Bryce stepped closer then, placing his arms around his wife and daughter. "Pup," he told Bryallyn quietly, "we are very proud of you, of your abilities and how you have grown into the person you are becoming. You have earned the right to carry this."

Bryallyn nodded, wiping at the tears that were still rolling down her cheeks. Did they not understand just how important this was to her? Could they not see ... She allowed her parents to begin leading her indoors, keeping her thoughts to herself. She knew without a doubt that they were proud of her and realized that her mother's gesture was something akin to the passing of the family sword from one generation to the next. Fergus had gone through that years before, when Bryce had ceremonially passed both the Cousland blade and shield to his son and heir.

Moving closer to her daughter, Eleanor asked softly, "Are you all right, darling? I did not mean to upset you."

With a broad smile, Bryallyn glanced at her mother, a woman of about the same height as herself. "I hope you will always find reason to be proud of me, Mama," she whispered back.

Eleanor hugged the younger woman again and replied, "I have no doubt about that at all."

Bryce led them into the dining hall, where many of the Highever soldiers who had observed the competition had been invited to join in the impromptu festivities with the rest of the Cousland family. It was a tradition with the Teyrn of Highever, and not only encouraged a closeness between the men and the family whom they were charged to protect and defend, but it gave the soldiers opportunity to interact with Bryallyn and Fergus as well. Now, Bryallyn spoke with many of the men and women who served, showing off the prize her mother had presented, recounting the "battle" and relaxing among good company.

Some time later, while Bryallyn was entertaining to her four year old nephew, Oren, guards entered the room to announce, "Your Grace, the Arl of Amaranthine's entourage is arriving."

Bryallyn swallowed the shout of excitement at this announcement. She could hardly wait to see both Delilah and Nathaniel and show them the bow! Moving quickly, she slipped out of the room after the departing guards amid shouts of her father's laughter and her mother's admonitions of acting like a lady ringing in the air around her. When Bryallyn passed through the doors to the keep and began descending the steps, she found the carriage carrying the Arlessa and Delilah pulling to a stop. The Arl and his sons, Nathaniel and Thomas, were all dismounting their steeds. "Welcome to Highever, my lord!" she called to him as she approached.

Rendon glanced down his long and rather prominent nose at the girl, noting her insistence upon wearing armor as opposed to proper women's clothing. "Thank you, my dear," he returned politely enough as he dismounted and handed his reins off to a groom.

Bryallyn walked beyond the Arl, barely nodding at Thomas, opening the door to the carriage for the Arlessa and greeting Delilah with a smile, saying , "Hi, Del!" Though her enthusiasm was dampened by the presence of her mother, Delilah managed a, "Hello, Bry!" before Bryallyn stepped pulled back to allow the women space to exit the vehicle.

And then Bryallyn turned and saw Nathaniel. The minute their eyes caught and met, however, she saw the storminess in his eyes disappear and a smile appeared. She gave him a questioning look, but he shook his head slightly. "Welcome, my lord," she said a bit cheekily. Behind her she heard her parents beginning to greet their guests. Taking the moment to speak softly, she murmured, "Are you all right, Nathaniel?"

Nathaniel nodded, handing his reins to one of the stable lads. "Why would you think otherwise?" he asked, knowing his voice was a bit more short and terse than he would have liked. He followed her towards the doors of the keep where the rest of his family had been headed.

Bryallyn stopped walking, waited for him to follow suit, and once he did she said simply, "Because I know you better than that."

Nathaniel sighed dropping his head for a moment. She did indeed, he realized. Between visits and occasional letters back and forth, their friendship had strengthened very quickly. "Where can we talk ... without being overheard or interrupted?"

Bryallyn grinned knowingly. "Follow me," she said. Leading him indoors, they entered the great hall where the Arl and Arlessa and children were now seated, joining the Couslands in a light repast. Walking over to a bowl of fruit, Bryallyn grabbed two apples and an orange then turned and offered some to Nathaniel. Puzzled, Nathaniel grabbed an apple and watched as she set the bowl back on the table. Walking over by her parents, Bryallyn announced, "Mother, I'm going to show Nathaniel  _Wicked Grace."_

There was a cry of protest from the Arlessa and a soft snort of laughter from Fergus, as Bryallyn realized how her words had sounded. Groaning, she turned and apologized. "I am so sorry, my lady! I was referring to my bow," she explained while lifting her mother's weapon to show the Arlessa. "My apologies for any misunderstanding!"

Bryallyn could hear her mother swallowing amusement as she turned her attention to soothing any remaining ruffled feathers. "Bryallyn, only established targets! No human ones!" she called after her daughter.

Sighing, Bryallyn set the extra pieces of fruit save one apple on the table and replied obediently, "Yes, Mother!" and took her mother's reaction as a sign that she had her approval. Thus gained, Bryallyn led Nathaniel through the halls of the keep and out the back to the archery practice yards.

Doing his best to sound serious, Nathaniel observed, "I do believe you did that on purpose!"

Bryallyn tried to hide her laughter, but the soft snort that escaped destroyed that idea. Giggling wholeheartedly now she led him down the path to the target area. During the short trip, she briefly explained how she had come to have the weapon earlier that afternoon. "Nicely done," Nathaniel told her with a smile. He had heard stories of the teyrna's expertise with the weapon, and he knew that Eleanor Cousland would not have given up such a treasured masterpiece as this if it had not truly been earned.

Bryallyn shook her head. "I can still hardly believe it," she told him, bewilderment still in her voice. Then, shaking her head, she handed both bow and her quiver over to him. "Go ahead and try it."

"Bry -"

"Go ahead," she urged, taking a step back. "I like watching you shoot. You make it look so ... effortless, seamless, so easily done." As she watched him follow her earlier movements, she realized just how true her statement was. She wondered if she would ever have the same level of skill that he had. While she stood back, she took a bite out of her apple, her eyes following every movement in the hopes of discerning his technique. As she watched, she noted how second nature the motions were to him.

Nathaniel fired off three successive shots, all meeting at the center of the bulls eye. With a warm smile that expressed his satisfaction with the weapon, he returned the bow to her. "Very nice," he agreed.

Bryallyn shouldered her bow, walking down towards the target to retrieve her arrows. "Can you tell me now?" she asked softly, knowing he would be behind her. On her previous visit to Amaranthine, they had walked down to the archery field to practice together, or talk, or both. She had suspected he would do the same at her home. Turning back to face him, she saw the storminess returning to his eyes.

"You are aware that Arl Bryland released me from my service so that I could return to Amaranthine and serve in my father's house, yes?" He saw her nod. "Well, my father has decided that I am to be sent off to the Free Marches now," he told her quietly. "For whatever reason, he thinks I need additional training." He was not about to tell her that the real reason dated back to their archery challenge in Denerim the previous year.

Bryallyn saw the look in his eyes and tried to discern what it was exactly that disturbed him. The fact that at twenty-one, Rendon Howe still thought his eldest needed training was surely an insult to the younger man's pride. "For what reason?" she asked softly, leading him back up the path. This time they both pulled out bows and quivers and began aiming for the target.

Nathaniel shook his head. "He's given me no idea - no explanation - no ... anything, really. I am simply expected to do as he commands without question." He nodded at Bryallyn to take the first shot.

Bryallyn loosed her flight, then lowered her bow. Nathaniel followed suit. The silence between them was an easy one, comfortable, companionable. "Do you know how long you will be gone?" she asked after a time.

Nathaniel shook his head. Taking aim, he loosed another missile. "I expect him to simply forget that I am over there, actually."

Bryallyn paused in the process of aiming as she heard the slight bitterness in his tone. Lowering her bow, she turned to him. "There is more to this than you are telling me, isn't there?"

Nathaniel turned to face her. "What gives you that idea?"

Bryallyn reached out to touch his arm. "Nathaniel, this is  _me_  you are talking to." She watched him frown and turn away again. "Did you two fight?"

"No."

Bryallyn sighed heavily and stared at Nathaniel's back. The immediacy of his simple acerbic response was enough. Lifting her bow, she took aim again.

Nathaniel watched her shot sidle in beside his. With a chuckle of appreciation, he told her, "You are getting good."

"Not nearly as good as you."

Her words made him pause, lowering his weapon this time. He began to turn towards her, but found she had stepped up beside him. "I mean that, Nathaniel," she told him, holding his gaze. "The only reason I won in Denerim was because King Cailan sneezed. You are an exceptional marksman. I will miss our little competitions when you visit and can only hope that your father does not keep you away for any extreme length of time or my skills may deteriorate."

Nathaniel stared down at her for a long moment, reading the truth in her eyes. Then with a smile, he told her, "Well, I'm not gone yet, and I suspect we shall have at least a few days of competition ahead of us."

Bryallyn bit back a grin, but teased, "Of that you can be sure, my lord!" She jumped to the side just before his hand would have caught her wrist, yelping softly as she did so.

* * *

It was indeed two days later, another gathering of family and soldiers to watch, this time a mixture of Amaranthine and Highever men. It was the two of them: Bryallyn with  _Wicked Grace_ , and Nathaniel with his bow, a serviceable enough Antivan longbow that he called, for lack of any better name,  _True Shot_.

The competition had been even between the two for most of the afternoon. They had alternated winning rounds, almost as if it had been planned, though those who knew the two archers realized that they were truly that matched in their skills. In sunshine or rain - and they had survived both that day - wind or no, they both persisted in their attempts to outdo the other. No one had been more surprised at the closeness of their match as Bryallyn. She knew she had improved, especially since she had been able to defeat her mother just days before, but she had not thought that she had achieved the same level of ability that Nathaniel had. After all, he was three years older than her, had more training and specialization. She'd spent as much time watching him, comparing styles as possible, yet she still felt inadequate. But their competition was proving her wrong.

And Nathaniel would be the first to tell her of it afterwards, that much he promised himself. No matter who won the actual competition, he was determined to spend time with her praising her on her improvement. It had been just over a year since they had last competed, and her progress in that short amount of time was remarkable, plus the fact that she had lost time to practice during her recovery from her injuries.

And then there was an opening ... Nathaniel's shot had missed only slightly outside of center. All Bryallyn had to do was hit dead center, and she would win. She nocked her arrow in place, tensed the bowstring slightly before lifting and aiming. Pulling back, Bryallyn prepared to fire the shot ...

And then quite suddenly, the draw string snapped, catching Bryallyn along the side of her face near her right eye. At the moment she felt the string beginning to snap, she closed her eyes, instinctively reacting to the proximity of the device to her face.  _Wicked Grace_  dropped from her hand, her hands flying to cover the wounded area.

The first Nathaniel knew of the incident was from the gasp from the crowd. He had been in the process of checking his own bow, nocking an arrow and waiting for his turn when the accident occurred. Turning sharply, he managed to see Bryallyn's hands cover her face as she dropped to her knees. Moving instantly, he knelt beside her, quietly and gently urging her to remove her hands so he could see the damage done ...

Bryallyn heard Nathaniel's voice, felt his hands on her arms. Within moments, she could hear her mother's voice as well, and then the concerned shouts of her father, both on the far side of the field near the area where they had been watching. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to call out, "I will be all right in a moment," so that her parents would be at ease. She knew that despite her concerns about her daughter's safety, Eleanor would be sensible enough to keep the crowd from pouring into the area and interrupting. At Nathaniel's gentle insistence, she lowered her hands.

Nathaniel saw the angry red welt that had marked her skin, and he could not hold back a grimace. It had missed her eye by a very slim margin, due to her turning her face and lifting her hands as quickly as she had. Instead of doing damage that could have affected her vision, she had an angry red laceration running down from her temple to her chin just behind her eye, but in front of her ear. It might mark her face, perhaps even scar, but it would not permanently impair her vision.

Nathaniel grasped her chin then, turning her to face him, and snapped his fingers in front of her eyes to catch her attention. At the same time, he watched her eyes react, compared them to each other in their responses. Then, shifting his fingers so that he was holding three upright, he asked, "How many do you see?"

Bryallyn eyed his hand. "Three."

"Good. Now close your left eye. How many now?"

"One. Nathaniel, I'm -"

"Now?"

Bryallyn sighed. "Nathaniel?" Looking up at his face, she waited for him to look at her instead of into her eyes. Giving him a hard look when he did finally look at her, she said, "I'm fine. Just a close call. It's happened before."

Nathaniel finally relented, releasing her jaw from his grip, and offering her an arm to pull her up beside him. "No blurriness? No dizziness?"

Bryallyn gave him a patient smile and watched as he leaned over to lift her bow and hand it back to her. "I'm fine, I promise," she told him quietly. Finally, he smiled at her, and she knew he was back to himself. "Oh, and Nathaniel?"

He tilted his head at her. "Yes?"

"You won." She saw a startled look cross his features then, indicating that their competition had been the furthest thing from his mind. Smiling and lifting her now unstrung bow into his line of vision, she added with a cheeky grin, "Congratulations."

Nathaniel scowled at her, taking  _Wicked Grace_  from her hand, and began shepherding her in the direction of her parents and others who were waiting to see how she was doing. While the others fussed over her, Nathaniel held back, the bow still hanging loosely in his hand. It had been a near miss for her, and she truly seemed to be more concerned about the results of their match. Shaking his head, he began following the group as they made their way towards the keep.

Remaining near the back of the group, Fergus approached Nathaniel before they entered the building. "I wanted to thank you," he said quietly.

Nathaniel frowned at Bryallyn's brother. "My lord?"

Fergus frowned at him. "Nate, stop it. You know you don't need to address me as such here." He watched as Nathaniel reluctantly nodded. "I was referring to your quick thinking, getting to Bry as you did, checking her eyes. She could have been severely injured..." Fergus shuddered, not completing the thought. "I just wanted you to know that we appreciate it."

Nathaniel nodded in acknowledgement. "It's something I was trained in, my l-" Nathaniel caught himself in time. "Fergus. When I was squired to Arl Bryland. They made sure we not only knew how to use the bow as a weapon, but knew the full extent of the damage that could be caused - both to enemies and ourselves, and how to treat them."

Fergus nodded and clapped him on the shoulder. "I am glad that you did. Now, let's head to the great hall. I'm sure Nan has prepared something of a feast, knowing her, and Bryallyn I'm sure will be desperate for someone to pull her away from overly concerned onlookers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * direct reference from We Do What Must Be Done. We Do What Must Be Done is my headcanon background story for Eleanor and Bryce Cousland.


	10. In The Shadows

Bryallyn kept to the shadows as she edged her way down the hall from her room, exiting the private apartments. When she reached the atrium that separated the living quarters from the main part of the keep, she stepped to her right, moving a step or two into the recess there and settled in to wait.

Nathaniel smiled softly as he saw her arrive. Without a sound, he moved to her side, leaned down and whispered near her ear, "It took you long enough!"

Bryallyn gasped before chuckling softly. "I should have known," she hissed. Taking his hand in hers, she began leading him, still in the shadows, towards the exit they had used earlier in the week that led to the back of the estate, through the woods and eventually down the cliffs of Highever and onto the coast. They traveled in silence until they neared the shoreline. Once arrived, Bryallyn led him over to a rocky outcrop where they seated themselves in the moonlight.

As they sat there, Bryallyn drew her knees to her chest, resting her head to her knees, turning her face into the light breeze. "I like coming down here when I need time alone ... or to think ...," she told him quietly.

Nathaniel watched her for a short time in silence as she stared out at the water, the moonlight shining down upon the waves and them. "It is nice," he agreed, "but I imagine your parents might not appreciate your ... timing?"

Bryallyn smiled at this. "They would have to know about it first," she murmured. She was pleased to see the white of his teeth flash in the darkness as he smiled indulgently.

"I suppose your father was ... happy with you today then?" she asked, referring back to their archery competition that he had won after her bowstring had snapped ... and just missed blinding her. Nathaniel sighed heavily. He reached a hand over to touch the side of her face where the bowstring had met and marred her flesh. "The swelling has gone down," he observed as he gently prodded the area.

Bryallyn smiled again, lifting her hand to cover his. "And you are not answering the question, my friend." She felt his fingers tighten for just a moment beneath her hand. "Nathaniel?"

He sighed again, adjusting his hand so that he could squeeze hers in reassurance. "Whether he was happy or not will not make him change his mind about sending me to the Marches," he replied quietly.

"No," she agreed. "But it might make things a bit easier for you until you leave."

Nathaniel turned, adjusting his position so he could pull her against him, between his legs, and he could hold her for a time. "I am going to miss having chances like this to talk with you," he told her, his arms wrapping lightly around her.

Bryallyn leaned back into the embrace and nodded against his chest. "I will too," she admitted. "You do realize, do you not, that with you gone, your father will have Thomas start courting me?" Again she felt his body tense up at her words. "I won't, though," she added quickly to ease his mind.

"What about your parents?" he challenged. "They might have something to say about that."

Bryallyn shifted to her knees and turned in his arms. "They will not force me to," she told him simply. "They have already assured me that if and/or when I meet the right person, I will know it and that it will me up to  _me_ , not them, to decide when that is. Until that time ..."

Nathaniel found himself staring into her eyes.  _Maker, I hope you are right!_  he thought. "Might I write to you?" he asked suddenly. "While I am gone, that is."

Bryallyn noticed a slight blush rise into his cheeks. Her smile was soft, encouraging. "I would certainly hope you would continue to do so," she replied softly. "Your friendship means a lot to me, Nathaniel."

 _Friendship._  Nathaniel nodded slightly, thinking on the word.  _What would it take to make you think of me as more than just a friend I wonder?_

Rising to her feet, Bryallyn suddenly began removing her clothing down to her smallclothes. "Let's swim," she told him.

Nathaniel's gasp was soft, and he wasn't sure that she had heard it at all. Within moments, she was running into the waves and diving beneath the water.  _Oh, Maker!_  he thought when he saw her rise above the wave tops again, her hair slicked back with the moonlight shining down and reflecting upon her. Hesitantly, he reached to remove his clothing, setting his weapons and such alongside hers.

"Come on, silly!" she teased. "It's a bit cold at first, but you will get used to it quick enough!"

Nathaniel approached the edge slowly. It wasn't that he was afraid of the water, or that he didn't know how to swim.  _Do you know what you look like out there?_  he wondered, feeling the wash of the waves up against his feet, his shins and then higher as he waded into the water.  _Am I the only one to have ever seen you like this?_

Bryallyn emerged from the water directly in front of him when he was up to his waist in the water. He could feel the push and pull of the tide, the gentle but persistent force behind the movement of the water ... and Bryallyn's broad smile as she rose and pushed the loose waves of hair back from her face. "Nathaniel? Are you all right?"

Nathaniel snapped himself from his thoughts as he brought his eyes to meet hers.  _Oh Maker, why must you tease me like this? Surely by the time I return she will be taken, married off to someone and have family of her own ..._  He felt her take his hand and pull him gently further into the water. "I'm ... fine," he finally managed. He gave her a small smile.

Bryallyn grinned back. "Come on, I want to show you something," she told him before diving into the water and leading him off. For just the barest of moments, Nathaniel watched her swim, her arms slicing through the water, her feet making hardly any wake at all, before he dove in after her and soon had joined her by her side ...

* * *

They were finishing dressing after their mid night swim when Nathaniel began to sense trouble approaching. "Shadows ... now!" he hissed at her, pulling her to him and moving them both towards the cliff overhangs. Bryallyn grasped her weapons just as he wrapped his hand around her arm and pulled her into the darkness with him, his own shadow forms covering her as well for added protection. They stood in each other's arms silently against the face of the cliff; watching, listening, waiting. Bryallyn trusted him implicitly. If he had sensed something, she knew the threat was real.

It seemed as if they waited forever, but was really only a few minutes before figures began approaching on the beach. There were two, both male from all appearances, and they were clearly ignorant of their proximity to Nathaniel and Bryallyn. Nathaniel recognized them a half moment before their voices began drifting in their direction. Silently, he lifted his hand to Bryallyn's head, pressing it against his chest, partially hampering her vision but bringing her close enough for him to whisper almost soundlessly, "My father and brother."

" ... she's been given a latitude that is nearly impossible to get around," Thomas was grumbling.

"Then you must try harder, boy!" Rendon told him firmly. "It is imperative you convince her despite your foolish antics last year!"

Nathaniel was thankful he had covered Bryallyn's ear. He sincerely hoped that she was not able to hear this conversation.

"They have given her the final right to choose," Thomas said in disgust. "Each time I approach her, Father, she dismisses me ... like ... like some ... knife-eared servant!"

Rendon was shaking his head, Nathaniel saw, before he bit out, "Bryce and Ellie have given both their children too much freedom. They should have been subjected to strict discipline from the day they were born! It is up to you to convince her that you are her choice, and once you and she are wed, then we can bring her into line."

Nathaniel felt Bryallyn's slight frame stiffen against his and knew that she had heard. Pulling her closer, he offered what comfort and apology he could. But the next words sent chills through him.

"Why me, father? Wouldn't Nathaniel be a better choice? He already is friends with her, surely he'd be a better choice to win her hand."

Rendon's snort of derision echoed through the air around them. "That boy will amount to nothing due to his mother's influence upon him. He will have no inheritance. You are the future of the Howe lineage, my son, not Nathaniel. And it is time you start acting like it."

Nathaniel felt Bryallyn's arms slide around his waist and squeeze, indicating she had heard that as well.  _What influence?_  he wondered, thinking of the woman who never seemed to want to be in the same room as him more than a moment or two.

They talked further, but the voices began to fade again as they walked further away down the shore line. Soon Nathaniel and Bryallyn were left alone in the shadows beneath the cliffs.

Bryallyn glanced up at Nathaniel, saw the look in his eyes and leaned into his shoulder so he could hear her say, "I am so sorry, Nathaniel!"

Nathaniel released her then, allowing his shadow forms to fade. "I have always known, I think, that my father disapproved of me," he told her quietly. "This simply confirms my suspicions." He glanced down at her and reached for her hand. "Come on, we need to get you back to the keep."

"And you?" she asked, tightening her hand around his, tugging lightly until he responded.

"Yes, and me too," he agreed as he squeezed her hand in return.

* * *

Bryallyn pulled him inside her room for a moment to keep his presence from being discovered. Setting her things aside immediately and pushing him to sit on the edge of the bed. After making sure he would stay, she went to the corner where she reached into her armoire, maneuvered her hand around for a moment, and pulled out a couple of glasses and a small bottle of brandy. She saw Nathaniel's surprise when she turned back. Giving him a grin, she explained, "Purely for medicinal purposes."

Nathaniel watched as she poured two small amounts and handed him one. "I am sure," he replied dryly. "But dare I ask why we are in need of ... 'medicinal purposes' right now?"

Bryallyn sat beside him, the bottle now placed at the nightstand near the head of her bed. "We've both had a ... shock, I suppose?" she offered before lifting her glass to his and touching them together lightly. "To friendship."

Nathaniel turned to stare at her for a long moment. "To friendship," he finally echoed, at which point they both downed the drink. "Make me a promise?" he asked after allowing the liquid to burn down the back of his throat, warming all the way to his stomach, though he began to doubt that anything would take away the cold taste of rejection.

Taking his glass with hers and setting them and the bottle aside, Bryallyn smiled and turned her gaze to his. "I was going to offer one," she told him softly.

Nathaniel felt the fiery liquid warming him from the inside outward, and smiled at her in return. "Stay away from Thomas while I am away," he asked. "He and father are clearly up to something and I do not want to see you hurt ..." He saw her eyes begin to glitter with emotion.

"I will not be marrying Thomas Howe, no matter what he or your father might say or do," she promised in a quiet but fierce voice.

He watched her rise, taking a deep breath before releasing it slowly. "Bry ..."

She turned to face him, her braid falling over her shoulder. He smiled gently, reaching a hand out to her cheek, brushing a loose strand away from face. "Be careful," he told her simply.

Bryallyn smiled and stepped closer to give him a hug. "I will. You be careful too, Nathaniel. Who else am I going to look to in order to chase away unwanted advances of nobles' brats?"

Nathaniel saw the smile, heard the humor in her tone, and felt his heart lurch inside his chest.  _Who indeed_ , he wondered silently as he hugged her back and wishing that he could tell her of his true feelings.  _I can't expect her to wait,_  he reminded himself.  _It would not be fair to her._


	11. Goodbye to You

Nathaniel slowly scanned the room from right to left one last time to make sure he had collected all of his belongings.  _It will not do to get halfway home and discover I left something important behind ... like a sleeping tunic or a pair of socks ..._  He chuckled softly to himself.  _Only Adria would notice that I suppose, and only she would think it important enough to chide me about._ Finally satisfied that he had indeed stored everything away in his bag, he shouldered his pack and turned to leave the room.

Outside the door to his room he found Fergus waiting for him. Nathaniel nodded his head in greeting and was about to address his friend when Fergus frowned severely. "If you call me 'my lord' again, I will have to hurt you ..."

Nathaniel grinned. Lifting a brow in mock surprise, he challenged, "Now, would I do that to you, my ...  _friend_?"

Fergus' frown eased as the two men began walking out of the living quarters, both chuckling in amusement. They discussed various different matters regarding Nathaniel's upcoming trip to the Free Marches until they neared the great hall when Fergus pulled Nathaniel aside. Instead of leading his friend into the hall, where the rest of the Howe family was gathering for their departure, Fergus instead turned down a short hall leading to a door. "Bry is up on the battlements," Fergus explained quietly as he pointed towards the door. "If you are wanting to tell her goodbye, I would suggest you go up to her.  _She_  won't come down." When he saw Nathaniel about to protest, Fergus added, "I will find a way to stall your father."

Nathaniel winced. Yes, his father would be a problem. Rendon was a stickler for sticking to the schedule. Finally nodding, he turned towards the doorway and replied, "Thanks."

Nathaniel ducked through the door and hurried up the stairs, wandering out onto the battlements moments later only to be buffeted by the wind and mist of approaching storms.  _This ought to make for a good trip home,_  he observed sarcastically. He began wandering the battlements, searching for Bryallyn, finally finding her on the north side, staring out towards the Waking Sea. She had pulled a heavy cloak around her, the hood covering her head. As she leaned against the wall, the wind swirled around, billowing out the garment almost like the flag atop the castle.

"I know you are there," her voice called out softly.

Nathaniel stepped forward then, watched as she turned to face him. He grew concerned however, when he saw that she had been crying. Moving to stand in front of her, he asked, "Is something wrong, Bry?"

Bryallyn emitted a short laugh, feeling her heart breaking at the question. It had occurred to her as she had crawled into bed the night before, just as her eyes began to close and her thoughts began to drift back over the events of the day that she cared for this man much more than the simple friendship they had toasted. In that in-between state from wakefulness to sleep, Bryallyn had felt her breathing catch and her heart race, leaping as if out of her chest as she realized the import of her discovery. She had remained awake all night, her mind speeding along through events from the moment that they had first met until the present, thinking on what he had said, how he had said it, and discovering that she had fallen in love with her best friend.  _But I cannot tell him,_  she reminded herself now.  _It is not fair to him as he goes off to the Free Marches. Besides, if he felt the same, would he not have said so by now?_

Nathaniel lifted a hand to her face, tilting it so that she would look up at him. "Bry, what is it?"  _What has happened since last night?_  he wondered.  _Did father or Thomas say or do something? Surely she would not hesitate to tell me if that was the case ..._  "Is something troubling you?"

Bryallyn felt the touch of his hand against her cheek, felt the spark that jumped between them and gasped softly. She did not realize her eyes had been closed until she heard him ask her a second time. Opening them once more, she looked up at him, saw the concern etched there, and ... something else?  _Or is it that I want to see something there ...?_

Nathaniel stared into her greenish-brown gaze and finally began to understand. With a slight smile, he leaned in towards her until his lips hovered just over hers. "I  _will_  write to you," he murmured softly, his breath fanning across her face.

Bryallyn swallowed hard, staring into his dark, stormy eyes.  _That voice!_  she thought. "Nathaniel, I -"

Whatever she had been about to say was cut off as he leaned a bit further towards her and captured her lips with his in a gentle but powerful kiss. The moment he felt her begin to return the touch, to feel the fire that was igniting between them, he lowered his hands to her waist, pulling her close, angling his head so that their contact could deepen, become more exploratory, more searching, ... more thorough. He heard a soft groan in reaction, and realized belatedly that it had been his own.

Bryallyn slid her arms around his neck, lifting herself onto her toes to reach him just a little bit more. When he pulled back a few moments later, both of them heaving for breath, staring into the other's eyes, she felt tears begin to track down her face again. She felt him reach up to wipe the moisture away with his fingers before murmuring, "I will be back, Bry, I promise."

Bryallyn nodded, laying her head against his shoulder, feeling his arms tighten around her. "Nathaniel ...?"

"Will you wait for me?" he asked, his voice hard as steel.

Bryallyn stepped back and looked up at him. Nodding, she swallowed her tears and decided that she must bare her heart to him. "I want no one other than you." She saw his lips part, heard a soft gasp slip through, saw his eyes flare at her words.  _Does he not feel the same?_  she panicked suddenly.  _Did I say too much?_

Nathaniel's arm shot out, reaching around her head until he could propel her lips back to his. He took his time: reveling in the feel of her soft lips against his own, the touch of her fingers tangling in his tunic where he had trapped them against his chest, the sight of her half closed eyes as she responded to his touch, the soft sound of her keening cries, the scent of lavender and honey in her hair ... Nathaniel was startled from his observations when he realized he had backed Bryallyn against the stone wall. He lifted his head from hers, gasping again to catch his breath. Turning so that he did not pin her against the hard surface, he pulled her close. "Bry -"

"I will wait for you and only you," she promised breathlessly, looking up into his stormy grey eyes. "Oh, Nathaniel, I wish I had known before now ..."

Nathaniel groaned and held her to his chest.  _I wish I had too!_

Releasing her for a brief moment, Nathaniel reached up to remove something from around his neck. He saw Bryallyn watching him closely, saw the curiosity in her eyes, and he simply smiled. When he finally managed to pull the chain from his neck, he gathered the slack until the pendant was left swinging just below his closed fist and they both could see it. "Do you know what this is?"

Bryallyn stared at the pendant as it swung lightly back and forth. Frowning, she glanced up at him. "It's a badger," she replied.

Nathaniel nodded, loosening the chain once more and taking it in both hands. "Adria, our nanny when we were little, now more or less our housekeeper," he glanced down at her, "like your Nan, I suppose - she gave this to me before I was sent away to Arl Bryland's to squire." He lifted the chain around Bryallyn's head and lowered it, allowing the heavier pendant to fall gently to her breast. "She told me at the time that the badger is unyielding in the face of danger and is noted for its tenacity and courage, and that it was representative of what she saw in me and knew I would become." He touched the pendant where it lay, watched her eyes drop to follow it as he traced it's shape. "I see the same in you, Bry," he told her softly.

Bryallyn's gasp was soft as she tilted her head to look back up at him. She searched his face for a long moment, before saying, "Nathaniel, I can't! This is yours - a bond between you and -"

Nathaniel placed a finger over her lips to silence her. "A bond between us now," he told her. "Wear this while I am gone," he suggested. "When I return, if you have decided I am not the one you want to be with, you can return it. But, if I find you wearing it, I will know you have made your decision ..."

Bryallyn paused for a long moment, before nodding in agreement. "I will," she promised before tucking it beneath the neck of her tunic. Stepping forward, she felt his arms return around her, pulling her close. "Thank you."

They stood in each other's embrace, the wind and rain whipping around them, for a long while simply absorbing the newness to their old and familiar relationship. Some time later, and very reluctantly, he released her and stood straighter. Lifting his hand, he cradled her cheek, tilting her eyes until their gazes locked. "I have to go," he told her sadly. "I am surprised, actually, that your brother has been able to keep my father from finding me before now."

Bryallyn swallowed past the lump of dread building in her chest. It weighed heavily upon her, awakening her senses to emotions, feelings and concerns that she had never had to worry about before. Doing her best to tamp them down for the time being, she reached out for his hand, smiling as his larger one wrapped securely around hers. It was a good fit, she decided. "We'd best not keep him waiting then," she said, leading him back towards the stairs.

As they descended in the darkness, she felt him place a hand on her shoulder, pulling her to a stop about halfway down. He moved until he was positioned on the step below her, their faces about even level. Even in the darkness, he could "see" her with his fingertips, felt hers taking the same route with him. Leaning his forehead against hers, he felt her trembling. "Bry? What is it?"

In the darkness, Bryallyn began to whisper her concerns. "Nathaniel, what if -"

Nathaniel smiled into the darkness and sighed as her voice cracked and trailed off, her concern echoing in the air around them. "Ah, my Bry," he murmured near her ear after pulling her close, "I know you will think me silly if I tell you this, and you must not tell another living soul ... especially Delilah," he added. "Promise?"

Bryallyn nodded against his neck. "I promise," she whispered.

Placing his lips near her ear, he whispered, "I have loved you since that day we met in the royal gardens when you called down your beautiful red-breasted falcon to protect you." He felt her body stiffen against his slightly, her shock clear at his words.

"Truly?" she breathed softly.

"Truly," he echoed. Turning so he could kiss her cheek briefly, he added, "Each and every time we are together only heightens what I feel for you. There will be no other for me," he swore, "only Bryallyn Theresia Cousland."

Bryallyn gasped in surprise to find that he had remembered her full name after all this time. "But, Nathaniel," she then whispered in concern, "what about ... what we heard last night?"

He managed to find her face with both of his hands. Cradling her face between them, he kissed her forehead. "I told you then, and I will repeat it now: Beware of my father and Thomas. They are up to something, that much is obvious. Beyond that, know that I love you, I will always love you come what may, and when I return we will think beyond the here and now."

Bryallyn nodded against his touch. "I will be careful," she promised.

They descended the rest of the way then, Nathaniel taking her hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly the entire way. When they approached the great hall, he kissed her one last time before they separated, but turned to enter the room together.


	12. Missing Missives I

It was several months after Nathaniel's departure that Bryallyn was unexpectedly called to her father's study. Confused by this, she hurried there, unaware of any matter needing tending, or training issue with the men, or even ...  _Oh, no,_  she thought suddenly as she reached for the door, her thoughts drifting back to the last visit by the Arl of Amaranthine and his family.  _Surely he didn't find out about THAT!_  Bryallyn thought back to the night ... no, they had been careful, quiet, staying very, very close to the shadows.  _Right?_ Swallowing hard, she entered the room.  _All we did was walk ... and talk. Well, there was the swimming too, but, really, it was dark and ... surely Arl Howe and Thomas didn't see or hear anything ... And a kiss wouldn't warrant ... well, it was more than just a kiss, but still ..._

Bryce was seated at his desk, Fergus standing nearby and both men were in the middle of a discussion about the state of Highever's troops. At the sound of his daughter's entry, Bryce turned. "Ah, there you are, Pup!" he exclaimed, rising to his feet.

"You ... wanted to see me, Father?" she asked, managing an even tone. She saw her brother glance at her, an impish smirk quirking at his lips. Bryallyn's eyes narrowed.  _What do you know ...?_

Bryce smiled at her. "Yes indeed. Wylden down at the gates just brought this up and I thought you might like to see it."

Bryallyn stepped forward then as Bryce handed her a sealed document. Bryallyn frowned at the unfamiliar writing, clearly forming the letters of her name, and the ... seal ...  _Nathaniel!_  Sliding her finger beneath the seal, she lifted it and opened the parchment.

Bryce watched his daughter from his position near the desk as she began wandering off to the far side of the room. He doubted she realized it, but she had lifted her hand to her lips and was biting the knuckles of her index finger. Bryce chanced a glance at Fergus who had lifted his gaze at the sudden quietness from his sibling. Both men shared a grin, and quickly turned back to their previous occupations as Bryallyn seated herself in a window seat and began reading.

_**5 Guardian, 9:26 - Free Marches** _

_Bry,_

_It is with a bit of trepidation that I begin this letter, not knowing if it will ever find you and, if it should, if you will ever respond. I know that you were insistent that I write, and I hope you meant that because I have come to find after our discussions during our last visit together that I cannot simply let our friendship fall by the wayside. The simple fact is, dear lady, that you and you alone are the one person in all of Thedas who is making this journey bearable for me._

Bryallyn paused a moment, holding the parchment to her face, closing her eyes and imagining Nathaniel was near, his arms around her, his comforting presence offering her the reassurance she was searching for. She lifted a hand and placed it over the pendant that lay hidden beneath her tunic; she pressed against it lightly, a gentle smile lifting the corner of her mouth as she thought of him.

_As you can no doubt tell, I have arrived safely. The journey was not bad nor long, though dull and tiresome. At one point as we sailed, I found myself wondering at and intrigued by the possibility of being attacked by pirates. Alas, no such luck._

_I am at the keep of an acquaintance of my father's, Doran Antell. Should you desire to respond, simply send a missive in my name, care of Antell to Kirkwall and it shall find its way to me. I wish you well, dear friend, and look forward to the day that we can compete once more with flights of arrows and simple targets instead of ink and parchment._

_Yours in friendship,_

_Nathaniel Howe_

Bryallyn folded the letter, lowering it to her lap as she turned to stare out the window. That day it was raining, and she began to wonder if the storm was there to mock her internal feelings. A soft sound startled her from her thoughts and she turned to her left to find her father standing nearby, a look of concern upon his face.

"Is all well, Pup?" his gentle voice queried.

Bryallyn blushed. "Yes, Father," she replied. "It ... it's from Nathaniel. He's arrived safely at," she scanned the letter in her hand once more, "Kirkwall."

"Ah, that is good to know," Bryce responded. He glanced over his shoulder at his son and nodded towards the doorway. "Pup, Fergus and I are going to see what Nan has available for the mid-day meal. Would you care to join us?"

Bryallyn shook her head and turned her attention back to the window and beyond. "No, thank you. I think I -"

Bryce placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned down to kiss her cheek. "If you would care to respond to your, ... erm,  _friend's_  letter," he murmured, "I can see that Wylden gets it to the first boat out to Kirwall."

Bryallyn smiled, turning to kiss her father's cheek in return. "Thank you, papa," she whispered.

Bryce smiled at her, patted her shoulder once more and turned to leave her to her thoughts. It was a few moments before Bryallyn rose and found the writing supplies at her father's desk. She settled herself in his chair, a large and comfortable one that she had fond memories of climbing onto the teryn's lap while she was a child and he was seated in it. Now as she sat there, she tried to rein in her thoughts, focus on a response ...

_**20 Drakonis, 9:26** _

_Dearest Friend,_

Bryallyn lifted her finger to her mouth, pressing her knuckle against her lips and teeth. What was he expecting of her? Was he wanting to keep their newly evolved relationship a secret for now? Was he waiting for her to be the one to say something first? Bryallyn closed her eyes tightly, searching for an answer. Sighing, she opted to leave the salutation for the time being. If he wanted it known, he would have to make the first move.

_I was very glad to hear of your safe arrival at your destination. And though I understand the wish you have for ... excitement, shall we say, in your life, the fact that you arrived without incident pleases me greatly._

_You do me great honor, my friend, in valuing my communication so dearly. I hope I can do both it and you justice. I shall endeavor to find many an amusing anecdote to tell for my next missive. For now, suffice it to say that it came as a great surprise and supreme delight to receive your message and know that you are in safe keeping._

_May the Maker keep you safe and in good health until next time, my friend._

_Faithfully -_

_Bryallyn Cousland_

Bryallyn glanced over the message, and finally nodded in satisfaction. Reaching for the candle holder and wax, she melted a small puddle of the wax upon the edge of the letter. Setting these items aside, she reached for the small stick kept for the purpose of stirring the wax to cool it to the proper temperature for an impression. As this time neared, Bryallyn set the stick aside before removing her signet from her finger. Each adult member of their family had one that contained the Cousland heraldic device in the background, a specialized combination of their initials that was unique to them, as well as one specialized symbol, again unique to each individual. Turning the ring so that the signet was face down, Bryallyn made the imprint, held it for a long moment, and then removed it before setting the letter flat on the desk in front of her. Sitting back in her father's chair, she folded her hands beneath her chin and stared at the document.  _And so it begins ..._

 

* * *

 

Some weeks and months later, and on a fairly frequent schedule following thereafter, Bryallyn received additional messages from Nathaniel. Some were upbeat, other less so, but always they were polite, endearing and thankful to her for her friendship (which concerned her to a degree - had she imagined their declarations to each other? Had he, despite his promises, changed his mind? Met someone else?).

In Wintermarch of 9:27, while down with a severe case of one of the more common winter ailments, and over her birthday no less, a visitor arrived at Highever Castle requesting an audience with Bryallyn. As she was unable to entertain the guest in her father's study, Bryce brought him to her room.

Bryallyn repositioned herself in her bed, covers smoothed over her lap, shawl wrapped around her shoulders, as her father led the stranger into her rooms.

"My lady Bryallyn?" the guest asked.

Bryallyn nodded. "Yes?" she managed, wiping at her nose with a handkerchief she had in her hand.

The man gave her a warm smile. "My lady, my name is Liam. I have been sent on behalf of my lord, Nathaniel Howe. Sadly, his business in the Marches detains him still. However, he requested that I deliver this to you for the occasion of your birthday." He handed her a folded piece of parchment containing Nathaniel's handwriting and personal seal. Frowning, she broke the seal and read the short note.

_Bry, my dearest friend,_

_I hope this note finds you well, though if you have had as rough a winter as we have here, I have my doubts. If such is the case, I wish you the speediest of recoveries so that you may enjoy the enclosed gift. I am hoping for the best and entrusting it to your care, for it is nothing that I have space or time for at the moment. Should the arrangement not be acceptable, I leave it to your discretion to deal with the situation as you see fit._

_With deepest affection on the occasion of your birthday, I hope that this shall be a Constant friend until my return._

_Nathaniel_

Bryallyn frowned as she felt something of weight drop into her lap. Searching, she found a fairly heavy chain containing a pendant. "What in the Maker's name ...?" she breathed, lifting it so that she could see it closer. It was a chain, a heavy one at that, with a flat pendant attached. Flipping the metal disc over, she found an engraved name on it. "Constant."

A sudden soft yip caught Bryallyn's attention and she looked up to find Liam was now holding onto a very dark, incredibly wiggly bundle of furry energy. "Oh!" she gasped, recognizing the creature for what he was. Bryce chuckled from his position near his daughter and moved to take the animal, setting the pup beside her on the bed. He watched her glance up at him, and he nodded. Leaning down slightly, Bryallyn rubbed noses with the animal as he wiggled around excitedly and jumped onto her lap. The chain Nathaniel had sent was too big for him now, but she realized that Constant would grow ... and grow ... and grow. "Hello, boy!" she greeted the animal, petting him and scratching his belly. The mabari returned her greeting with a yip, another jump, and a lick of her face that had all adults laughing. Glancing at Liam, Bryallyn told him, "Thank you. If I were to write him a thank you note, would you be able to deliver it?"

Liam nodded. "Not personally, mind you, but I can make sure that it gets to him."

Bryce turned to leave the room, chuckling. "I shall return in a moment, Pup, with the writing supplies and lap desk." Bryallyn barely heard her father, too busy was she with her new friend who had decided to snuggle up on her lap and roll so that she would scratch his belly.

* * *

_Dearest Nathaniel,_

Nathaniel smiled at the greeting. He had removed himself from the company of his friends, retreating to one of his favorite spots in the keep ... the high tower that joined with the keep itself that housed the barracks. He had found the way to the very top shortly after his arrival, and used the escape sparingly, usually for when he received letters from Bryallyn. The one time that Devlyn and Rhyan had caught him with a letter, they had given him grief for weeks. Though in and of itself it hadn't bothered him - it had been one of Bry's early letters, there hadn't been much for his friends to tease him about - he did not want them thinking that they could use the situation as ammunition against him in future. Turning his eyes back to her even, neat scrawl, he continued reading:

_It is with greatest delight that I take on responsibility for your treasured gift. From the moment it arrived, there was a connection unlike any other I have experienced, save one._

Nathaniel's brow lifted at this.  _Save one._  He chuckled softly for a long moment as he thought about that. Apparently, his decision to send Constant for her birthday had been appreciated. Nathaniel had thought long and hard before he had done so, and in the end he had warned Bryallyn's parents of his intentions should they have any objections. He had been surprised by the enthusiastic response by the Teyrn, but the man had urged Nathaniel to follow through with his plans.

_Upon your return, I am sure you will be pleased with the efforts that have been made. A Constant vigil is being kept, and I shall badger you until you agree to assist._

_Thank you again, dear friend, for you thoughtfulness and consideration. I pray the Maker guides your steps and keeps you safe until your return._

_Faithfully,_

_Bryallyn_

Nathaniel refolded the message and tucked it into his pocket for storage later with the others. Leaning back, he stared up at the darkening sky, the stars peeking out, the moon low on the horizon as it began the evening rise.  _The mabari bonded,_  he thought.  _And she still wears the pendant. It has been almost a year, and she writes as if things have not changed._ Rising to his feet, he dusted off his trousers before lowering himself through the hatch. As he carefully descended the ladder, he quietly wondered how much longer he could expect the happiness he had found to last. The past had taught him on many an occasion that finding happiness quite often resulted in finding sorrow as well.


	13. Missing Missives II

Bryallyn was returning indoors with Fergus and Rory Gilmore after a day's field training with Highever's soldiers when she spotted her mother heading towards the great hall. Eleanor turned as she spotted them and waved them over. "Hurry," she told them as she ushered them in the direction of the living quarters. "Arl Howe and his family will be here shortly. They have upped their arrival date ... hurry and make yourselves presentable!"

Bryallyn sighed heavily as she turned towards her room. Fergus remained by her side though Rory had turned in another direction headed towards the barracks where he housed with the rest of the Highever soldiers. As they walked, Bryallyn glanced up at her brother.

Though his thoughts were elsewhere, Fergus caught her look out of the corner of his eye. "Problem?" he asked.

"Perhaps," she returned. This would be the first time that Bryallyn had found herself alone with the Howes without Nathaniel's presence nearby. "I ..." Bryallyn stopped walking and turned to face her brother. "Fergus, I have some ... concerns," she announced without giving him the source of her knowledge, "that Thomas Howe may be attempting to ... court me?"  _Can I really call it that? After what we heard?_

Fergus frowned. "This is a problem?" he asked. In his mind, Nathaniel was a better match, and he had thought that the elder Howe was of the same mind, but as Fergus was not party to the communications between his sister and Nathaniel, he realized that the situation could have changed. Now, as he waited on her answer, he watched her face closely, saw a flash of something passing in her eyes, and he thought he finally understood. "Ah, I see."

Bryallyn tried to find her voice, but had trouble. "I have ... reason to suspect that Thomas will not take no for an answer," she whispered. She reluctantly lifted her eyes to lock onto his. "Brother, I need your assistance. I have absolutely no interest in him, but mother and father might not understand if I refuse him without telling them why ..."

Fergus gave her a warm brotherly smile and pulled her close for a hug. "Bry," he told her, "I will help as I can, but in return I have one question for you. Will you answer it?"

She searched his eyes carefully. "Yes," she promised.

"Is your reluctance because Thomas was responsible for your injury, or because you are interested in someone else?" Fergus asked.

Bryallyn struggled to answer his question honestly but vaguely. "I ... Fergus, I am already spoken for," she whispered. She watched his face closely for his reaction.

"Nathaniel?" Fergus saw her nod once. "Fair enough then. I have no reason to believe that Thomas would be anything like a good match for you at any rate," he added.

Bryallyn did not hide her tears of thankfulness when she threw her arms around her brother for a hug. "Thank you, Fergus!" she whispered.

Fergus squeezed her back affectionately. "Just keep in mind," he added teasingly, "that this will cost you ... a weekend of watching Oren perhaps?"

Bryallyn rolled her eyes and lightly punched his arm as they ascended into the living quarters. "I will gladly do so," she promised, "if it means I do not have to worry about Thomas!"

* * *

_**17 Justinian, 9:27** _

_Nathaniel,_

_I have taken a few moments, stolen if you will, from your family's visit to pen this message. I am delighted to see your sister once more, as you may guess. Her presence, like yours, is a balm when facing the rest of your family. Delilah, by the way, has asked that I mention that she sends her love and very best wishes to you, and she apologizes for the delay in her next letter._

_Since his arrival, like we thought, Thomas has again been trying to separate me from the pack, so to speak, in order to press his advances. He has yet to be successful, however, as Fergus has become our agreeable ally. Additionally, Delilah appears to be running interference. Whether she is simply concerned for my welfare or has guessed at the truth, I do not know, but it is a relief to know that I am not alone in this. Fear not, my friend, I am safe and shall remain so._

_Tonight at dinner there was discussion of the upcoming Landsmeet. Though the thought of traveling to Denerim is agreeable to me, and the potential for amusement there is great, I spoke with both of my parents this evening, and they have agreed that I will remain at Highever this year, with Oriana and Oren. The official explanation is that I will be "holding down the fort" here at the castle while my parents and brother are gone. I will tell you honestly, my friend, I simply do not wish to take any chances. Thomas has acted ... within reason, I suppose, so far, but my instincts are screaming that he will not give up._

_Faithfully,_

_Bry_

Bryallyn heard a soft knock at her door, set her writing desk aside and rose from her bed to answer the summons. Cracking the door just slightly, she found Delilah standing just outside the portal. Smiling, Bryallyn stepped aside and allowed her entrance into her room. "Problem?"

Delilah sighed and shook her head. "Not ... exactly," she replied, taking a seat by the table near the table against the wall. Sighing heavily, she sat back and closed her eyes. "There are times when I wish I was not related to my brother," she grumbled.

Bryallyn laughed aloud at that. "I assume you are referring to Thomas and not Nathaniel?" she teased with a grin. When she saw Delilah barely respond, she added, "Del, I think every sister goes through that at least once in a while!" She watched the other girl sit up and frown at her then. "That bad?"

Delilah nodded. "He's an embarrassment, Bry!" she hissed. "I was finally able beg off because of a headache, but I know my parents will be disappointed in me ..."

There was the sound of a heavy handed knock at her door, and Bryallyn watched as Delilah actually flinched at the noise. Neither young woman had any doubt as to who was on the other side of the barrier. Rising to her feet, Bryallyn made to answer the summons as she hissed, "Let me deal with this. Just follow my lead, okay?"

Opening the door, Bryallyn found Rendon Howe standing there, his eyes looking thunderous. "Ah, my dear," he told Bryallyn while scanning inside the room. "I wonder if you might have seen my Delilah. She indicated she was not feeling well and was going to lie down ..."

Bryallyn stepped aside to allow the man visual access to his daughter. "So she informed me, my lord," Bryallyn responded while walking to Delilah's side and handing the girl a small health potion. "I suggested she take one of my healing potions. I keep several on hand for just such emergencies." Bryallyn watched Delilah take the vial, giving Bryallyn a quick look before downing it in one swallow.

Turning back towards the Arl, she continued, "I would be glad to escort her to her room once we are sure the potion is working, my lord. If necessary, I will ask Nan to provide her with something stronger, if that is agreeable with you?"

Bryallyn watched the man's face closely: each slight adjustment to his facial expression, the slightest of sneers, the suggestion of a glowering of anger ... Bryallyn watched as he turned on her, his anger about to explode ... until a low, growling bark came between them, echoing throughout the room. Bryallyn watched the man recover quickly, stepping back from her, his attention drawn to the year-old mabari at their feet. He seemed to recover himself then, the anger disappearing quickly as if a curtain had come down behind his eyes. "Of course," he told her, his voice struggling for pleasantness. "That is very ... considerate of you."

Bryallyn smiled. "It is my pleasure, my lord," she murmured, gesturing him out of the room then. She saw Constant move beside the opening, his growl still there, but not as loud now. "Good evening."

When he had gone and the door was shut once more, Bryallyn chanced a look at Delilah. Both girls let out nervous giggles, their words falling over the others as one said, "I can't believe you did that!" And the other, "Did you  _see_  his face?" And to top things off, Constant suddenly barrelled his way into his master, knocking her onto the bed where he could offer her his nosy, slobbery comments on the whole situation. With giggles and smiles, Bryallyn relaxed and hugged the animal. "Thank you, my friend," she told him. "You saved the day!"

* * *

_**6 Cloudreach, 9:28** _

_Nathaniel,_

_I do hope this letter finds you in time for your birthday! I can only say that between Oren demanding my time to play with him and Constant's never ending brushes with Nan in the kitchens, I have simply lost track of the days. I fear that I may have missed my window of opportunity, and therefore shall have to make it up to you with tales of such adventure as to distract you from my tardiness._

Nathaniel again found himself upon the top of the tower, staring out to the south in the direction of his homeland. In the nearly two years he'd been in the Free Marches, he'd only received letters from three people: his sister, Delilah; Teyrn Cousland in response to his request to send Bryallyn the mabari pup for her birthday; and Bryallyn herself.

_Fergus' son is now a very precocious six, and demands attention from any and all he can find. He is the most, ahem, "lackadaisical and willful student, quite in keeping with his father's temperament," according to Aldous, our old tutor. When asked as recently as last week to explain the history of the Cousland family, Oren managed to turn the discussion into a focus on the old kings of Ferelden and the weapons used by said kings. It appears as if my nephew has a desire, not so hidden, to become a sword and shield man like his father, though he finds plenty of time to demand lessons on how to use a bow from his Auntie Bry. This gives the family much amusement ... except perhaps his poor mother who thinks it disgraceful that we encourage him as we do._

Nathaniel found himself chuckling as he reread the paragraph. During his visit, he had seen the fondness between nephew and aunt, between the whole Cousland clan for that matter, and he had found himself becoming a bit jealous at what he had not had. But as the time at Highever had worn on, he had come to realize that the jealousy was fast becoming hope ... for what someday he and Bryallyn might be able to have together.

_As for Constant, yes, my ever Constant friend as you suggested when you sent him to me, he has yet AGAIN managed to find a way into the larder so that he can make a mess, upset Nan to no end, who then gets after me of all people, and let's me have an earful ... and I do mean EARful! Ah, Nathaniel, to have you here upon occasion that she might give you that earful instead of me ..._

Nathaniel shuddered at that thought. He had met Nan upon several occasions, none of which could be considered ... comfortable.

_I miss you, dear friend, and hope that you have an enjoyable birthday celebration. I also pray to the Maker (much to Mother Mallol's dismay, I might add!) that you are allowed to return home soon to be with family and friends who truly care for you. Maker keep you safe, my dearest friend._

_Faithfully,_

_Bry_

* * *

_**5 Harvestmere, 9:29** _

_Bry,_

_Circumstances insist that I keep this brief for now, but should all go as planned, I shall be in close communication with you soon. Stay safe and well, my friend, for I have news I hope you shall find to be ... pleasant._

_Nathaniel_

Bryallyn stood in the center of the chapel reading the brief note a second time in as many minutes. "Close communication?"  _What does that mean?_  Bryallyn glanced at the perpetual calendar hanging on the wall. It had been a month since Nathaniel had written and sent the letter, but still no further word. Bryallyn left the chapel and returned to her room to change. Once ready, she grasped her cloak and  _Wicked Grace_ , whistled for Constant and began walking out to the stables. She passed Fergus in the hall and informed him of her plans, to which he simply nodded before watching her stalk out of the castle. Hiding his mirth, he turned towards the library where he knew he would find his father in the study.


	14. The Prodigal Son Returns

He returned with no celebration, no fanfare, not even anyone waiting at the dock for him, though he had sent word ahead of his impending return.  _Typical_ , he thought to himself as he reached for his bags. He didn't carry much with him, having decided long before to keep his belongings to a minimum, and those things that were important, he would keep close to his person.  _Like Bryallyn_. As he waited for the gangplank to be set into place so he could disembark, Nathaniel smiled briefly.  _At least, I hope she will want to be close by,_  he amended silently. Their separation that began almost four years before had occurred just as they were discovering their true feelings for one another.  _What if she's moved on and found someone else?_ he wondered.  _What if she's decided she prefers Thomas or someone like him over me?_  That last thought almost made him recoil with horror.

"Come on, mate," a voice behind him broke into his thoughts, "where's this veritable palace you've told me about, eh?"

Nathaniel sighed, taking refuge from his riotous thoughts in practicalities. "This way, Dev," he replied as he led the way down to the dock and then into the city of Amaranthine. He glanced around.  _Still no one._  Nathaniel continued to lead the way on through the city, silently slipping through the market district and exiting through the front gates.

"How far is it?" his companion queried.

"Couple of hours by foot," Nathaniel replied as they finally turned onto the road that would lead them to Vigil's Keep.  _Home_. They walked in companionable silence for a time, keeping an eye out for any trouble that might decide to come their way, and though it had been a while since he had last traveled these roads, Nathaniel unerringly found the way home.

* * *

Delilah was in her room when she heard quiet voices walking by ... including a voice she had not heard in several years. Moving quickly and quietly, she slipped from her room and made her way down the hall. She passed Thomas' room, knowing that this late in the day he'd most likely be three sheets to the wind. She continued to the room beyond, the one with the door a bit ajar and daylight streaming out of it as if the curtains had been drawn open ... the one belonging to Nathaniel. Though still partially closed, Delilah took a step just inside the door, finding her brother standing near his bed, rummaging through a backpack, occasionally removing an item and setting it aside. She was about to speak to him when she heard a deep voice from the other side of the door say sarcastically, "Nice view."

Delilah watched her brother glance up and chuckle. "You get used to it," he replied absently before turning towards the door to face her. Smiling, he reached a hand out to gesture her further into the room. "Ah, and here is my sister to welcome me home!"

Delilah smiled as she walked into his warm embrace. "Are you home for good, brother?" she asked.

Nathaniel chuckled. "For this moment," he replied with a wink. The two siblings knew that ultimately it was up to their father. Gesturing towards his companion, Nathaniel said, "Del, I would like you to meet Devlyn Cashen, my friend, hanger-on and, according to him, my second, though he does not believe that I may yet change my mind. Dev, my sister Delilah."

Delilah took in the man's appearance: he was nearly as tall as Nathaniel with dark blonde hair that he wore short with one long braid trailing down the side of his head where it retreated behind his left ear. From the way that he was dressed, Delilah suspected that he was a sword and shield warrior, but she was not certain. His chest was large and broad, indicating he certainly had the build for it, though she did not see any evidence of the heavy armor and shield that usually accompanied such men. Making a small curtsy, she murmured, "A pleasure to meet you, Devlyn."

The man stepped forward then, reaching out to take her hand which he then brought to his lips so that he could brush the knuckles. "The pleasure is mine, dear lady," he assured her. "Nathaniel, you cad, you had me believing your sister to be some-ill kempt old maid, not the ravishing beauty standing before us now! It is a good thing we are friends or I might believe you were trying to hide her away from me!"

Delilah saw her brother roll his eyes and immediately suspected that she would have to keep her eyes and wits about her with this one. "My brother does have the tendency to ... understate things," she agreed. At Nathaniel's questioning look, she gave him her best  _we will talk later_  look. "I assume you both just arrived and, as we have had no advanced word, you must have walked?" She saw both men nod in agreement. "Then why don't we head for the kitchens," she suggested, offering each of them an arm, "where I am certain the cook shall be delighted to see you."

Nathaniel glanced at his friend and waved at the far side of his room. "Leave your gear here, Dev, until we find you a room." He had no sooner finished speaking than his friend had done exactly that and moved to Delilah's side, sliding her arm through his and leading her out of the room while saying, "I suspect that we should go ahead without your brother, you know. He has a voracious appetite and has been known to eat his way through multi-course meals with relative ease, leaving absolutely nothing for any other living creature ..."

Rolling his eyes once more, Nathaniel gave the pair a head start before following after them. As he walked through the familiar halls, he began to wonder when his parents might make their first appearance and if they would welcome him home ...

* * *

"Enter."

Delilah looked up from her bed to find Nathaniel responding to her permission to enter, thankfully alone. It amazed her that the two men had been at Vigil's Keep for nearly two weeks already, and this was the first time Nathaniel had managed to find her alone so that they could speak. Sitting up in her bed, she drew her legs up beneath the covers, crossing them and patted the space in front of her on the mattress for him to sit.

Easing his lithe frame onto the bed with a cat-like grace, he was barely seated before Delilah asked him, "Will you be going to Highever with us in a few weeks?"

Nathaniel lifted his head to look at her closely. "You sound as if you know the answer to that question better than I," he returned neutrally. The last thing Nathaniel wanted to do was reveal his plans before he was ready.

Delilah sighed and began thrumming her fingers against the book she had been reading. "Nathaniel -"

Reaching a hand out and resting it against her hand, Nathaniel murmured, "Yes, Del, I will be going."

"Oh, good!" she breathed. At his look of inquiry, she asked, "Am I wrong to assume that there is something more than mere friendship between you and Bry, brother?"

"What makes you ask that?"

Delilah gave him a hard look, and upon hearing the wariness in his voice, her gaze softened somewhat. "Oh, Nathaniel," she said lightly, "did you think I wouldn't notice?" She sighed and leaned forward to whisper, "I saw her wearing the pendant, the one Adria gave you when you were little. I know how important that is to you. Did you think I would not make the connection?"

Nathaniel blinked. "She still wears it?" he whispered in astonishment. He had hoped ...

There was a quirk to her smile, but Delilah managed to bring it under control. "When last I saw her, she was," she told him. Keeping an eye on him, she ventured, "I expect this ... pleases you, yes?"

Nathaniel looked at her in bewilderment, but nodded. "Del -"

Delilah smiled and covered his hand with her own. "Brother, I could not wish a better match for you," she told him honestly. "I think the two of you will make a wonderful team, a formidable pairing." This last was said with a grin. "I just hope I always remain on your good side!"

Nathaniel sighed, allowing his embarrassment to pass as he reached out to pull his sister close for a hug. "Thanks, Del," he murmured. When he sat back, he inquired, "When do we leave for Highever?"

Delilah thought for a moment. "Two weeks. Why?"

Rising, Nathaniel leaned over and whispered, "Would it bother you if I went on ahead by about a week?" He saw her frown, and added, "I know Father won't be happy about this when he finds out, but some things - people - are worth ... taking a chance on."

Delilah clapped her hands together softly, grinning from ear to ear. "If it means I end up with a new sister, I don't mind you leaving ahead of us at all!" she whispered. "Will you be taking Dev with you?"

Nathaniel nodded. "I would not inflict him upon you without ... proper chaperoning," he told her in mock sincerity. He watched her laugh softly, and smiled. "You may have to take the flack from mother and father for my early departure," he warned.

Delilah snorted. "I can handle it. Perhaps I can fob it off on Thomas. It isn't like he's not deserving anyway ..."

Rolling his eyes but unable to hide a grin from her, Nathaniel turned and left the room, his head spinning with plans the entire way.  _It is time to move forward ..._


	15. The Times They Are A Changing

Nathaniel rode easily, the wind blowing through his now shoulder length hair as his steed cantered along the road leading along the coast of the famous cliffs outside of Highever. Fergus had told him his sister would often ride out here, walking the cliffs to clear her mind or simply to pass an afternoon. He sincerely hoped that Fergus was right today. He had defied his father by traveling ahead (albeit accompanied by his second) to arrive in Highever early by several days, but Nathaniel had wanted the time alone without the distraction of his family. He needed to think, to determine exactly what it was that he wanted ... and what she might want, and whether the two might blend together.

In the distance, he spotted her: a mixture of blues, black and silver astride a dark horse, currently riding along the path ahead of him, her hair pulled back in one long, loose braid. She was not in armor, though he could see the bow at her back, and there was a blur of movement at her side. Nathaniel smiled as he drew nearer: Constant. He should have known that the mabari would be by her side, her "ever Constant" friend indeed.

Bryallyn heard the sound of approaching hoof beats, but did not draw her weapon. Glancing down at Constant, he continued running along beside her as if nothing was amiss, indicating that the person approaching was a friend. Instead, she chose to lift her face into the wind, allowing it to blow the loose tendrils that had escaped her braid away from her face, tickling her chin, neck and ears.

As he drew alongside her, Nathaniel reached out to take the reins and slow her mount, pulling his own to a halt alongside. He watched her turn in her seat ... and the surprise that began to fill her eyes as she realized. "Nathaniel!" she gasped before throwing her arms around him in a hug of greeting, not caring that the action pulled her out of her saddle and onto his lap. "You've come home!"

Nathaniel chuckled and hugged her in return. "I should have sent you another letter if I'd wanted you to be at the keep when I arrived, yes?" he teased. When she blushed, he kissed her forehead. "How have you been, Bry?"

Bryallyn dropped to the ground before taking back her reins. Once he joined her, she started walking along, leading her mount and guiding him over to the side of the road nearer to the cliffs' edge. "I have been well enough," she replied when Nathaniel began walking beside her. Constant came bolting over then, barking and yipping at both of them before dashing off and then running back in obvious excitement. Nathaniel laughed at the hound's reaction and reached to the ground for a stick to toss for him. "And yourself?"

Nathaniel sighed as he straightened. "The same," he replied, his voice the deep, rich timbre she remembered so well. "Though, I must admit I am glad to be back in Ferelden. And the ... scenery has certainly ... improved."

Bryallyn frowned a moment in confusion until she realized his meaning. Blushing slightly she smiled. Truth be told, she was glad he was back too. "When did you return?"

"Four weeks ago. I've been at Amaranthine since."

They walked in companionable silence for a time, with occasional stops to toss the stick for Constant or allow the horses to take a bite from a succulent portion of grass. Bryallyn silently, almost without thought, led him to the top of the cliffs until they could go no further. Gazing out over the Waking Sea, she told him, "I would come here, you know, at least two or three times a week ... I would spend hours looking out over the water towards the Marches."

Nathaniel paused to look at her. She stood beside him, her tall frame now reaching his shoulder. She was dressed in a deep blue tunic, black breeches and soft leather boots with a riding heel. The cloak she wore was of heavy wool, needed as the weather was in it's late season fluctuation. "Now, why would a beautiful lady such as yourself waste her valuable time staring off over the seas at some foreign land?" he teased. "Surely it was not worth the effort."

Bryallyn groaned softly, turning to face him. Fire in her brownish-green depths, she was surprised when he reached a hand out as she moved, grasping the back of her head and pulling her close. She felt his lips angle against hers and couldn't stop a gasp of surprise at the suddenness of his action ... just moments before melting against him at the contact, her arms sliding around his waist in an effort to keep from falling. In a heartbeat, she felt the time and distance of the past few years that had separated them disappear completely.

Nathaniel teased her gently, knowing that he had to tread carefully if he wanted to convince her, for he had no doubts now. After lifting his head from hers, he murmured, "Or perhaps it was worth the time after all ...?"

Bryallyn looked up into grey eyes that matched the clouds over the Waking Sea. "Nathaniel ...?"

Taking a deep breath, he found himself struggling to find the words he wanted. "Bry, I ... wish to speak with you about something ... important."

Bryallyn stopped walking and turned to face him. She could see a nervousness in him that she had never seen before. Reaching out, she touched his hand through the leathers he was wearing. "Nathaniel? What is it? Are you all right?"

Nathaniel laughed shortly, swallowed hard and then told her, "Yes, I suppose you could say that." At her frown, he shook his head. "Sorry, Bry, I'm just ... I mean, I ..."

Bryallyn squeezed his hand while capturing his other with her other hand. Facing him, she squeezed both hands tight and stepped up close. "Nathaniel, you know I don't frighten easily ...?" He nodded at her softly voiced question. "You are frightening me now. What is wrong? Talk to me! You always used to."

He took a deep breath, staring into her eyes and finally managing a small smile. Lifting a hand to her cheek, he murmured, "I want to know ... need to know if you will consent to ... becoming my wife?"

Bryallyn felt her body suddenly go cold, the blood draining from her face, the world around her slowing down and spinning suddenly around her. Then just as quickly, it all sped back up, and she felt a warmth she had never felt before taking over. And through it all, she held the stormy gaze in front of her, focused only on them as the world shifted and shook about her.

Nathaniel watched her closely, carefully. At first he thought she might fall over and he reached a hand out to hold her by her shoulder to keep that from happening. He saw her continue to hold his gaze, searching into his soul for some answer ... "Bry?" he called softly. "I know it has been a while, but -"

Bryallyn finally found her voice, though it came out in a harsh whisper. "Oh, Nathaniel, yes! Of course, yes!"

And then she launched herself into his arms, and for the first time in his life, Nathaniel felt as if his world was finally complete.

Bryallyn sat upon his lap, snuggled against him, his cloak surrounding them both as they watched the distant waves in the Waking Sea below them. They were sitting along the cliffs edge where the tree line reached closest, leaning back against one of the giant trees. If the world were to end now, she thought as she curled into his warmth, I could face the Maker completely happy.

"I need to speak with your father," Nathaniel murmured near her ear. "Ask his permission ... and your mother's."

Bryallyn said nothing, but moved her head against his shoulder. "Together," she finally whispered. "We will speak to my parents together."

Nathaniel smiled against her hair, his arms holding her securely to him. "Together it is then," he agreed, though for the moment both were content to stay as they were.

Bryallyn stood beside Nathaniel as they faced her parents in her father's study, her hand secure in his. Nathaniel insisted she let him do the speaking and reluctantly she'd agreed. Instead, she found herself examining her parents during the discussion, determining their body language and true reactions while she continued to grasp Nathaniel's hand in support.

Nathaniel waited a bit anxiously for the teyrn's response after he'd made his request. Should the man refuse him, he didn't know what he would do. Nathaniel had nothing but the utmost respect for the teyrn, but he was bound and determined to have Bryallyn -

Bryce rose to his feet slowly, his hands clasped behind his back, a serious expression crossing his features. Glancing at Bryallyn, he queried, "And what do you think of this ... request, Pup? This affects you more than it does your mother and I."

Bryallyn eyed her father closely. He is really leaving it up to me! she realized. She glanced at her mother who nodded slightly. "I believe it to be a good ... arrangement," she returned softly, "as I happen to love him."

Bryce glanced down at his wife, still seated in her chair. Eleanor reached for his hand, squeezed it gently before using it to assist in rising to her feet. The teyrna walked over to stand in front of her daughter. "This is truly what you want?" she asked. Bryallyn looked her mother in the eyes and nodded solemnly. Turning to Nathaniel, Eleanor asked him, "And you will take care of her?"

"Unto my dying breath." He felt Bryallyn's hand squeezing his. Perhaps it had been a bit much, he realized afterwards, but that didn't change the fact that he meant it every word of it.

Eleanor glanced up at her husband. "Well, Bryce, I don't see that we can do anything else but wish them well, do you?" she asked rhetorically.

Bryallyn gave Nathaniel a quick look before throwing her arms around her mother. Eleanor chuckled near her daughter's ear and whispered, "Did you really think we would deny you this, my darling?"

When Bryce took his daughter in his arms, he murmured, "I cannot think of a better man for you, Pup. I hope you both will be very happy together."

Bryallyn stepped back from him and replied, "If we can have just a fraction of what you and mother have had over the years, I have no doubt that we will be."

Bryce shared a warm look with his wife. "It wasn't always easy, remember that," he cautioned his daughter.

Eleanor smiled back at him. "No, it certainly wasn't. But it has been worth every bit that we have had to endure." She stepped forward then and kissed Nathaniel's cheek, effectively welcoming him to the family. "Now, go along you two, and find Fergus to tell him, though I suspect he knows already."

As the younger couple left the room, still holding hands, Eleanor stepped closer to her husband. Lifting her eyes to Bryce's, she asked, "You are sure he is nothing like the father?"

Bryce nodded, pulling her close. A short time after Bryallyn's birth, Eleanor had finally broken down and told her husband about several instances she had been at the hands of Rendon Howe and his ... unwanted advances*. Bryce had found it all too easy to believe, unfortunately, and friend though the man was, they had agreed to keep him away from their daughter as much as possible, and when unable to do that, to be sure that she was well chaperoned when in the Arl's presence. In the years since, no other incidents had occurred, and Bryce had relaxed his concerns, but not completely. When Eleanor had first noted Nathaniel's increasing interest in their daughter, she had insisted her husband check into the younger Howe's background. Kissing his wife's head now, Bryce told her, "Nathaniel is nothing like his father, Ellie. I've checked into it thoroughly."

Eleanor sighed into his embrace. "I hope you are right, darling. Otherwise our daughter has just walked into a bronto's den of trouble."

Nathaniel found her later that evening up on the battlements of Highever Castle. She stood in the darkness, her cloak fastened at her neck, her hair down, the dark curls being tossed about in the wind. When he neared, she sensed his presence and turned to face him. With a soft smile, she stepped into the embrace he offered.

Bryallyn felt his arms slide around her, keeping her close, safe and warm. "Why are you up here?" she asked against his chest.

"I was having trouble sleeping," he admitted.

Bryallyn glanced up at him then. "That wouldn't have anything to do with your overly amorous second chasing after one of the servants now, would it?" she teased. But she saw that he was being serious, and dropped the teasing, asking instead, "What's the matter?"

He smiled, feeling at ease for the first time in a long while simply by being in her presence. "I'm just trying to think how my father will react when I tell him ..."

Bryallyn gasped. "You haven't spoken with him yet?"

Nathaniel actually blushed a bit. "Bry, we barely tolerate each other's presence. Why would I speak with him about something like this before hand?"

"Will he keep us from marrying?" Bryallyn asked slowly, carefully. "I mean, you are the eldest ..."

Nathaniel shook his head immediately. Lifting a hand to caress her cheek, he turned her head to face his. "No, he views Thomas as his heir, remember? My brother will practically jump to do his bidding. As for my father's refusal, that I simply will not allow. No matter what, Bry, we will be together. Besides," he added, "your brother and father have both repeatedly assured me that they would like me to become a part of the Highever contingent. I suspect," he added with a grin, "that your father is not wanting to let his little girl go just yet."

Bryallyn bit her lip and blushed. Though she knew that was probably true, she suspected that her mother had more of a hand in the offer than anything. Bryallyn's thoughts turned then towards Arl Rendon Howe and the potential for trouble that he offered. She remembered all too well the few times she had been forced to speak with Nathaniel's father. None of them had been pleasant, and most had left her feeling uncomfortable afterwards. Oh Maker, she prayed, please don't let anything come between us!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A/N: referencing We Do What Must Be Done.


	16. An Announcement

Nathaniel stood his ground, his posture straight, his countenance nonthreatening. He was more used to his father's automatic dismissal of anything and everything that he had to say as being something utterly and completely useless than this silence. But then, it wouldn't have been his father if something surprising didn't occur.

Instead of chastising Nathaniel for an arrangement he would have preferred for Thomas, Rendon Howe stood in front of his eldest and gave him a smile. "Brilliant, my boy, simply brilliant," the patriarch was saying in that normal, nasal tone he always seemed to have. "I cannot understand how, with your lack of social standing and connections, you were able to succeed in such a match, but by the Maker you did! Perhaps there is hope for you yet!"

Nathaniel turned towards his mother who simply nodded her approval. Without another word, he excused himself and left their room at Highever to go in search of Bryallyn. A short while later, he found her in the library reading a book on the Cousland family history. Briefly, he wondered if it would become required reading for him after their marriage. "Let's go for a walk," he suggested.

Leading her outdoors, they wandered through the courtyard and began walking into the town of Highever itself, meandering through the maze of streets. It was some time before he began speaking, and by then they were nearing the town's center. "I spoke with my parents," Nathaniel told her finally.

Bryallyn glanced up at him then, concern clearly evident at his reaction. He had told her ahead of time he was going to do this today. When she had offered to go with him, he had smiled at her in appreciation of the offer, but flat out refused. Sensing now that there was more to this than his simple statement suggested, she hedged, "And?"

Nathaniel shook his head now, staring off in the far distance ahead of them. He felt her hand upon his arm as he led her, but otherwise his attention was preoccupied. "That's just it, Bry. They had no objections: none at all."

Bryallyn paused in her steps, pulling Nathaniel to a standstill beside her. "Is that not what you wanted to happen?" she queried softly.

Nathaniel blushed slightly. "Yes," he admitted, "but Bry, you have to understand: they have never simply agreed with me on anything before. On everything from the smallest issue to the largest, they have always fought me. This," he waved his hand and arm around as if encompassing the two of them, "this is so contrary to what I've come to expect … I am not sure how to take it."

Looking up at him, leaning against his arm, Bryallyn smiled and replied, "Think of it this way: Once we are married and out on our own, we will not have to worry about them nearly as much."

Nathaniel wrapped his arm around her, hoping she was right. Knowing his father, despite the arrangements that had been made to bring Nathaniel to Highever and place him within the ranks of the teyrn's men, Rendon could still find a way to be ... troublesome.  _What else can I do to keep Bryallyn near her family and both of us away from Father...?_

 

* * *

 

_**Highever Castle, 3 Harvestmere, Dragon 9:29** _

_My last attempt to obtain what should rightfully be mine through the union of my blood with the Cousland's daughter has failed. My pathetic excuse of an heir, Thomas, has failed me yet again, and perhaps for the last time. He had his opportunities, I showed him the way, but he either squandered his chance or he refused to put forth his best efforts. Either way, he will pay the cost for failing me._

_For, as I suspected, Nathaniel has succeeded without guidance and where his brother could not, that in being able to convince Bryce and Eleanor's little chit to marry him. Despite assertions to the contrary from both parties involved, he_ _is_ _his mother's son and is quite obviously under her influence - I can see this all too clearly now._

_So I shall now have to switch to my tactics to my one final option, one that I had hoped to avoid. Well, no matter. Whether through marriage or by force I shall have what I deserve: Highever, the teyrnship, the prestige and status that go with it all shall be mine. I will remain patient and vigilant and the opportunity will present itself. I will see the last of the Couslands go down with a whimper as they are finally forced into submission ... perhaps I shall allow my "friend" Bryce and "dear" Eleanor to watch as their descendants are slaughtered one by one ...? Ah, we shall have to wait and see on that, though the mere thought of it stimulates in ways I had not imagined._

_This all could have been avoided so long ago had my ancestors made better choices, had the Couslands not become involved in matters that did not concern them, had that Orlesian bitch_ _***** _ _not stuck her head in where it did not belong and brought Eleanor and Bryce back together. Eleanor_ _would_ _have been mine and_ _our_ _sons would be in position to rule Ferelden with the iron fist that it requires._

_Alas, things did not happen as they should, and it falls upon me to correct them. I shall have to plan carefully from here on out - no more reliance upon those who are not worthy. No one must know, not until it is absolutely necessary, and by then it will be too late ... for I_ _will_ _have what is rightfully mine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A/N: reference to We Do What Must Be Done.


	17. The Denerim Faire

"What do you have on your schedule today, my darling?"

Eleanor's words over the breakfast table broke into Bryallyn's thoughts, leaving the younger woman no doubts as to what her mother was going to suggest if no plans had yet been made. Straightening as she worked on her meal of porridge, fruit and toast; Bryallyn replied, "Nathaniel and I were going to attend the Denerim Faire while you and father are at the Landsmeet." Bryallyn took a sip of tea then, hoping this would keep her mother from badgering her. The only reaction from her father was a soft chuckle as he watched the two women he loved most begin a verbal sparring match.

"Bryallyn, you and Nathaniel have been engaged for six months now," Eleanor chided gently. "We must start making progress with certain things if this wedding is ever going to take place!"

Bryallyn stole glance over at her father again, this time noting that the man was busy with his nose buried in reports. Clearly, he was not going to choose sides in this battle. "Mother, we have plenty of time," Bryallyn murmured.

"Darling, you have very little time left," Eleanor countered firmly. "Preparations take time, you know that, and we need to get started on your dress ..."

Bryallyn groaned softly. Fighting with a dressmaker was  _not_  what she wanted to spend the day doing. Her mind grasping for some solution, for she really did not want to fight with her mother, she offered, "We will be here through the next week, yes?" She saw Eleanor nod. "Then schedule an appointment with whomever you think the best dressmaker will be for tomorrow or the day after or something ..." She saw her mother about to argue, and she added, "Or, if you'd rather, we can wait until we return to Highever?" When she heard Eleanor sigh heavily, Bryallyn took her chance to leave the room. She paused to kiss her father's cheek, and then her mother's, while whispering to Eleanor, "Thank you!" before dashing off to prepare for her day.

* * *

"So, where are we to meet this vision of loveliness who is your intended?" Devlyn asked as he led Delilah through the halls of the palace while following after Nathaniel.

Nathaniel ignored the man, for the ... He frowned.  _How many times this morning?_  He had lost count. Sighing to himself, he simply walked on, his pace increasing and his strides lengthening as his irritation built.

"Dev, you really should be nice," Delilah admonished him lightly, the proximity of her voice telling Nathaniel that the pair had increased their steps to keep up with him. "Bry is very nice, as you well know, and your egging my brother on like this is only going to ruin our day at the faire."

Devlyn sighed dramatically, but winked at Delilah. "If you insist, my dear," he told her in an exaggerated whisper, "but it is so much more fun to tease him! You have to admit, it is enjoyable to watch him squirm ..."

Nathaniel ignored his sister's giggling and simply walked on. He and Bryallyn had agreed to meet near the doors exiting beside the Landsmeet hall before the four continued on to the Market District. They entered the final hall and started crossing it, Nathaniel's strides pulling him away from his companions. He came to a stop beside the doors, turning around to glance down the crossing hall, but did not see Bryallyn. Frowning, Nathaniel began walking down to his left, but did not get far before Devlyn and Delilah caught up with him.

"I'm sure she will be here shortly, Nate," Devlyn told him in all seriousness.

"We are early, you know," Delilah murmured while reaching out to place a hand on her brother's arm. "Have you checked outside yet? Could she be waiting out there?"

Nathaniel looked down at her and was about to answer when Devlyn interrupted to say, "Del, why don't you and I go and check. That way Nate can be here to intercept her if she arrives."

Sighing, Nathaniel nodded his agreement, if only to have a few moments of peace from his second's incessant teasing, which he knew would go on all day.

* * *

Bryallyn ran through the halls at a breakneck pace as she ducked and dodged the few servants she passed, her cloak trailing out behind her like the wake of a ship leaving port.  _I'm late!_ she panicked as she moved.  _That's the last time I agree to help Fergus with something before I'm supposed to meet Nathaniel ... he did this on purpose!_

She made a sharp turn to her right, clamored down the staircase to the lower level, and then made a quick left. One more hall, to the right up ahead, and she would be at the doors ...

Leaning against the inner wall, Nathaniel heard rushed booted steps hurrying in his direction before he turned to see a grey blur heading in his general direction. He pushed away from the wall, his graceful frame moving to its full height, and stepped into her line of flight, reaching out to catch her around the waist and pull her to a stop against his chest. "Hi there," his deep voice rumbled in greeting.

Bryallyn gasped for breath while looking up. Giving him a huge smile, she leaned into the embrace he offered, her arms wrapping around his waist. "Sorry I'm so late!" she managed as she attempted to slow her breathing to normal once more. She leaned up and kissed him lightly. "Blame it on Fergus," she added a moment later as he moved to take her arm so they could head out of the building.

This caught Nathaniel's attention. "Oh really?" he queried. "Your brother having second thoughts about us at this late date, is he?"

Bryallyn laughed. "Well, you could blame me too, I suppose," she admitted. "Fergus asked me to 'assist' him with some correspondence that needed responding to. Fool that I am, I agreed." Her slender shoulders shrugged beneath his hands.

Nathaniel found that he was struggling to contain his mirth. Covering his amusement with a cough, he was not surprised when she elbowed him lightly in the stomach a moment later. With a growl of affection, he tucked her beneath his arm and turned her towards the door. "Shall we?" he asked as he led her towards the barricade. "Dev and Delilah are waiting outside."

Bryallyn nodded and quickly matched her steps to his. They exited the palace to find their friends waiting just at the bottom of the steps. Bryallyn smiled at Delilah before giving her friend a warm hug of greeting, and then laughed when Dev reached for her hand only to have Nathaniel quickly insert himself in between them so that his second would not begin one of his laboriously flamboyant greetings. "We know," he told Dev. "You are glad to see her." Bryallyn and Delilah exchanged a glance and began giggling uncontrollably. Nathaniel ignored the girls' reactions, taking Bryallyn's arm and tucking it through his own before he started to lead her away.

The walk between the palace district and the market district (the center of the Faire) was a short distance, relatively speaking, and they soon found themselves entering the square to find all sorts of new stalls, colorful banners, strolling entertainment and an ever growing crowd all gathered together. Bryallyn took a step closer to Nathaniel, feeling his arm move securely around her shoulders, which eased her quite a bit. She was a ranger, used to the wide open spaces of the lands around her, and found herself suddenly uncomfortable in these overly crowded surroundings. Nathaniel seemed to understand this, squeezing her arm lightly in support and recognition before he leaned over to whisper, "Just let me know if you want to leave."

Bryallyn chanced a quick glance up at him and smiled. "I will be all right for now," she said.

During their walk to the marketplace, the four had agreed to start their day by wandering around to see what vendors and entertainments had been provided for the event before making a firm plan of action. Now as they began examining the stalls, Bryallyn wondered how they would manage to see any of it without having to dash from one place to the next after only the briefest of stops.  _So many things to see and do!_

When finally a plan of attack was settled upon, the couples decided to split up - Dev had found an armorer with whom he wished to speak and Delilah a fabric merchant, both of whom were on the northern end of the square while Nathaniel and Bryallyn had spotted some stalls to the south. "Why don't we plan to meet at the Gnawed Noble for lunch when the Chantry bells toll mid-day?" Nathaniel suggested. "Then we can decide from there where we will go."

Bryallyn remained close to Nathaniel as they wandered through the crowded paths in the direction of their first destination (he had not told her yet what it was). They were nearing the gates of the Arl of Redcliffe's estate when she heard a distinctive voice calling out, "Palms read, fortunes told! A copper fortells your future should you wish to know!"

Bryallyn paused in her step, feeling Nathaniel immediately do the same. She sensed his questioning gaze upon her as she searched for the source of the advertisement. Then, spotting a small stall set back to the side of an armorer's space, she pointed and said, "Could we?"

Nathaniel saw the excitement build in Bryallyn's eyes and suddenly found himself wondering if he would ever be able to deny her anything. "Bry, people make their own futures, it's not set in stone," he told her gently, attempting to reason with her, "or your palms."

Bryallyn managed to hold back a grin, seeing in his eyes that he wouldn't refuse this. "I know, but don't you think it would be fun? To see what she had to say and then see if any of it actually comes true?" she replied softly. "Please, Nathaniel? Just for a lark?" She saw his eyes roll and she could not help but release a soft chuckle. Leaning up towards his ear, she whispered, "Thank you, my love!" She heard his soft grumble coupled with a bit of a growl and her chuckle turned into a giggle as he placed a hand at her back and guided her over.

They found an older woman, Bryallyn guessed her to be about her mother's age, perhaps just a bit older, and dressed in a multitude of garish colors, textures and designs that on anyone else would seem ghastly, but on her seemed quite in character. Dark hair that was scattered with grey and pulled back into a single braided plait at the base of her neck, she wore long, dangly silver earrings and had several chains around her neck that had pendants, charms and other attachments. Piercing blue eyes looked up at their approach and focused almost exclusively on Bryallyn, almost to the point of causing the younger woman to stop her approach. But as Bryallyn might have done just that, the woman spoke with a raspy though pleasant sound and told her, "Please come forward. You are here to have your palms read, yes?"

At Bryallyn's nod, the woman gestured to a nearby crate beside a small table covered with a fabric that had various colors and designs woven into it. "Have a seat then," she said as she took her own, "and we shall get started."

As Bryallyn took the seat indicated, she felt a sudden nervousness overtake her.  _Maker's breath_ , she thought _, what is wrong with me? I'm behaving like a small child!_  She felt Nathaniel move behind her, his hand at her shoulder lending her some of his calm. At his touch, she felt herself relax, the influx of sudden feelings and emotions that had begun to overpower her fading away. "Which hand would you like to see?" she asked the woman.

"Place both upon the table," she was told, "palms up so that I may look at the both of them."

Bryallyn did so, wondering briefly how it was the woman could tell fortunes, yet not wanting to know at the same time. There was some sort of "magic" involved whether it be true magic like the mages at the Tower performed, or simply a familiarity with folk tales and ancient customs she did not know. Either way, Bryallyn was certain that she did not want to disrupt whatever it was and spoil the outcome.

Bryallyn watched as the woman began tracing the lines on small hands with gnarled, bony fingers. Though she expected that the light touch would tickle, it did not and she relaxed even more. After a short time in which she evaluated both hands, the fortune teller lifted her eyes and caught Bryallyn's gaze again. "You and your young man," she nodded up at Nathaniel, "are about to be married, yes? To join yourselves together for all eternity."

Bryallyn instinctively nodded, her body reacting of its own accord before she could stop it. The woman's eyes had closed, and she therefore didn't see the movement.

"There is joy ahead for you, and great sorrow ... a betrayal by one close to you ... a burden that must be borne ... You both will find great joy and happiness together, but it will have a sudden end ... your future endangered by another who promises one thing and does another ... be aware of the closeness of friends, yet rely upon the presence of strangers ... your role will reverse ... creatures dark and evil will oppose you; a greyish darkness will fill your blood ... but you will lead the way to the future and find a way to overcome ..."

Bryallyn felt her chest tighten at the words. When the woman blinked, her deep blue eyes opening once more, Bryallyn saw something there ... disappear, and a focus return. Her hands were still in the woman's grasp, until she suddenly released them. Bryallyn felt her knuckles rap against the wood of the table below the cloth. Though she was curious about the interpretation of what she had just been told, her first concern was for the fortune teller who looked as if she had seen a ghost. Leaning forward, Bryallyn asked, "Are you all right?"

The fortune teller took a few deep breaths before responding, "My pardon, my lady ... there are times when I encounter someone, such as yourself, who's bond with the future is so strong and overwhelming ... I beg your forgiveness if I have startled you ..."

Bryallyn glanced up at Nathaniel who simply shrugged. "I am fine," she reassured the woman. "Do you know what any of what you just told me means?" She saw a look of confusion cross the woman's face.

"I ... do not, I'm afraid," she responded hesitantly.

Hiding her own apprehension from the experience, Bryallyn rose to her feet and pulled several coppers from her coin pouch at her waist. Placing them on the table in front of her, she told the woman, "I think perhaps I may have caused you more fright than should be expected from such an experience. I do thank you for your time."

Nathaniel began to lead her away from the stall, but both were stopped by strong hands that grasped their arms. Turning, they found the woman beside them, a pleading look in her eyes. "A moment please," she begged, reaching to her neck and removing one of her pendants. Taking Bryallyn's hand in hers again, she settled the leather tie and its pendant there, murmuring, "it isn't much, but it could one day save you or yours. Keep it with you at all times, my lady!"

In the moment Bryallyn glance down at the gift and then back again, the woman had disappeared. "How odd," she murmured. "Where did she go?"

Nathaniel shrugged. "I didn't see her leave," he admitted a bit sheepishly. His attention too had been caught on the chain in Bryallyn's hand. "What is that she gave you?"

Bryallyn caught the edge of the leather thong and allowed the weight of the pendant to pull it out and straighten. Then, reaching for the pendant with her other hand, she lifted it so she and Nathaniel could see it clearly: the leather thong, resplendent with different colored beads scattered across it's length as well, held a decently weighted pendant in the shape of a tooth at its center. With a gasp, Bryallyn lifted the pendant closer so she could examine it in further detail.  _Not a pendant of a tooth, a tooth turned into a pendant!_ _ *****_  Glancing up at him, she murmured, "I know what this is!"

Nathaniel looked at her. "Is that really a wolf's tooth?"

Bryallyn nodded, shifting the cord so that she could slip it over her head. "Yes. It's called a  _Feral Wolf Charm_ ," she explained. "My mentor told me about them years ago, but I've never seen them. There is talk that they are made through a certain ritual by the Chasind." Settling the pendant into place, she smiled up at him. "I wonder if she was Chasind or if she simply had found this through someone else."

"What is it supposed to do?" Nathaniel asked as he lifted the tooth to examine it a bit more closely.

Bryallyn closed her eyes for a moment to recall the words of her mentor. "Each one has slight differences I think," she told him, "but essentially it is a protection charm." She watched as Nathaniel released the pendant, allowing it to fall back into place. She sensed a hesitancy in his reaction, and she offered, "Do you not want me to wear it?"

Nathaniel chuckled softly and lifted his eyes to hers. "Not at all," he assured her. Though he had his doubts about the efficacy of such charms, he was not about to dissuade her if she believed in them. When she lifted a hand to touch the charm again, he grasped it in his and said, "If you want to wear it, Bry, wear it. It can't hurt, right?"

Bryallyn searched his eyes quickly, saw his honest reaction there and nodded. She allowed him to tuck her arm back around his as he continued, "Now, we should move on, don't you think? We have a schedule to keep before we meet up with Dev and Delilah."

Giving her intended one last, searching look, she smiled and nodded. "Right then. Let's go."

* * *

It was later that evening as she was preparing for bed that the words of the fortune teller came back to Bryallyn. As she settled beneath the covers, Constant lying on the floor beside her, the woman's raspy voice returned.

_... a betrayal by one close to you ... a burden that must be borne ..._

Bryallyn yawned and snuggled into her pillow. Most couples had burdens that had to be borne, she supposed. She'd certainly seen that often enough, even first hand with Fergus and Oriana's relationship. She found herself wondering at the betrayal bit, but she was too tired to give it anything but a cursory thought at that moment.

_... You both will find great joy and happiness together, but it will have a sudden end ..._

This caused a frown to crease Bryallyn's forehead, a bit of her earlier sleepiness fading. "Sudden end?" What could that mean?

_... your future endangered by another who promises one thing and does another ..._

Surely this wasn't referring to Nathaniel, she thought. Everything she had seen about him proved that he was a man of his word. No, there was another source for that ... but who?

_... be aware of the closeness of friends, yet rely upon the presence of strangers ..._

"Rely on the presence of strangers," she muttered. What did  _that_  mean?

_... your role will reverse ... creatures dark and evil will oppose you; a greyish darkness will fill your blood ..._

Bryallyn heard a soft whoof from Constant and realized she was muttering again. "Sorry, boy," she told him, hearing the hound snuffle his acceptance of the apology.

_... but you will lead the way to the future and find a way to overcome ..._

Whatever the future would hold, Bryallyn thought at last, would have to wait until the morning to be determined. She was simply too tired to contemplate it all now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A/N: this is a reference to the Feral Wolf Charm pendant.


	18. Almost There

A week before the wedding, Bryallyn found herself wandering the battlements to Highever castle on the day that Nathaniel was to arrive. He had sent her a message ahead of his presence - to give her and her family warning. Ostensibly the message had been sent to make sure she was at the keep when he arrived this time, announcing that he and Devlyn would preceed the rest of his family. Bryallyn did not have to ask why. Instead, she had approached her mother, endured Eleanor Cousland's teasing remarks and then hurried off to direct the servants to assist her with preparation of her future husband's room and one for his friend and second, Devlyn Cashen.

Now, in the early hours of the day, after a very short night of rest, Bryallyn found herself pacing back and forth: nervous, excited, filled with dread and hope at the same time. She tried not to think about the butterflies in her stomach that seemed to increase in number with each passing moment. She did her best to ignore the burgeoning headache that was growing behind her eyes as well. Groaning softly to herself, she paused for a moment at the wall, dropping her forehead to meet the rough but cool stone. It felt good ... the cool hard surface did much to soothe the feverishness of her brow ...

"I thought I might find you up here," a familiar male voice called softly from the doorway.

Bryallyn didn't need to turn to know that it was her brother. With a smile to herself, she asked, "Were you looking for me Fergus?"

The elder Cousland chuckled and wandered over to his sister's side. He knew all too well the irony of the situation: had it not been about eight years prior that she had done the same for him as he awaited the arrival of his intended bride? "I thought you might like a familiar presence ... to keep you tethered to the rooftops as it were."

Laughing and standing straight as her brother tossed the same words back at her that she had used on him, she moved to his side and accepted the hug he offered. "Fergus, I -"

Fergus's deep chuckle was soothing in its familiarity. "I understand Bry," he told her as he hugged her close. "But, consider this as well: I have seen the relationship between you and Nathaniel develop in a way that Oriana's and mine did not. I know in some ways that probably makes everything a bit more ... intimidating, perhaps, possibly frightening. But, I can also tell you that mother, father, Oriana and I all believe he is the right match for you. We are truly happy for you."

Bryallyn noticed tears were rolling down her cheeks then and she hugged her brother again. "Thank you," she breathed into his tunic as she tried to draw strength from him. In the distance she could see the sun beginning to rise, though a chill remained in the air. Pulling her cloak closer to her slender frame, she stepped back and shuddered. "I am ... frightened a bit I suppose, excited, nervous ... all of that. I am afraid that once this," she swiped her hand out in front of her, encompassing the entire keep, "happens that what comes after will either be a huge let down, or that something dreadful will happen."

Fergus smiled indulgently, remembering his own experiences. "That will pass in time," he told her, "as you two become comfortable in the new aspect of your relationship. I know that doesn't help you much now, but ..."

"Riders approaching!"

Bryallyn's throat suddenly tightened at the cry of the gate guards below. Her head snapping back around to face the courtyard, she spotted the gates beginning to open and beyond that ... "Oh!"

Fergus laughed outright as his sister spun on her heel and began sprinting down the stairs towards the front of the castle. He followed behind, ready to catch her should she fall, though he knew given her roguish talents that would not be necessary.

As she ran through the keep, Bryallyn reached out and pulled the edges of her cloak close to keep from knocking things over. She saw her father coming out of the library, undoubtedly having been informed of the imminent arrival of his future son-in-law, heard him chuckle as she dashed past. "Slow down, Pup, he will wait for you!" Bryce called after her rapidly retreating form.

Bryallyn reached the doors to the front of the keep in record time, and began pushing one open, struggling only for the briefest of moments to get her shoulder positioned just right to get leverage against the heavy barricade ...

Nathaniel had just turned from dismounting, handing the reins of his steed to Devlyn, when he heard a soft cry and glanced up. His eyes widening, brightening, he struggled to keep a more serene expression on his features ... until she was standing in front of him, her eyes locked onto his, her love for him pouring out. Only then did he reach for her, wrapping his arms around her for a hug of welcome. Closing his eyes tightly for just a moment, he breathed in her unique scent of honeysuckle and lavender. "Bry!"

Bryallyn could not contain her grin any longer as she stepped back from him. Reaching for his hand, she secured it with hers and said, "Welcome to Highever, my lord." She watched him squirm for just a moment as she used the title, but then he smiled slightly, his usual somber look easing just a bit.

Fergus and Bryce both arrived in the courtyard then, adding their own greetings to Nathaniel. "Pup," Bryce started, "your mother is in the kitchens at the moment I believe. Why don't you go and ask her to join us in the great hall? I think your brother and I can escort this young man there."

Bryallyn's eyes widened for a moment, her father's intent clear. For a half a moment, she thought about refusing, but with a sideways glance at Nathaniel and a wink from him, she smiled softly and reluctantly agreed.

Nathaniel, followed closely by Devlyn, walked with the other men into the keep, noting as he did the changes since his last visit, most of which appeared to be cosmetic and were, he assumed, in preparation for the wedding to take place later in the week. Nathaniel responded politely to the teyrn's questions, occasionally initiating his own conversation. When they entered the great hall, they found Bryallyn and her mother entering from the door on the far side. Nathaniel approached the teyrna and greeted her with a brushing of his lips to her hand ... until she pulled him into a warm hug, murmuring, "You are practically family, dear boy!"

Greetings exchanged, Bryallyn finally managed to maneuver her intended away from the rest of her family on the suggestion of showing him to his room so that he could rest after such a long ride. Bryallyn led the way, knowing full well that Nathaniel had been to the castle enough times to find his own way, yet thankful for the excuse to escape the teasing of her family even for just a few moments of peace.

Once inside the room, Nathaniel set his things aside on the bed and reached for Bryallyn. Sighing in relief, she settled in his embrace, resting her head upon his shoulder as he wrapped his strong arms around her and pulled her close. "Oh, Nathaniel," she breathed, "how are we  _ever_  going to get through this week?" His chuckle rumbled through his chest beneath her ear, offering her comfort.

"I'm not sure who will be worse," Nathaniel teased, "Fergus or your mother!"

Bryallyn sighed and laughed softly. "Don't forget my father," she chided gently. "He can be worse than the two of them put together. And then there's Dev ..." She buried her head into his shoulder again. "I swear, he is twice as bad as Fergus!"

Nathaniel chuckled and assured her, "I can keep him under control," before leaning down to kiss her. "One more week," he reminded her. "Are you certain you want to attach yourself to me for life? There is still time to back out, even at this late date."

Bryallyn's eyes lifted to his, her face suddenly somber and serious. "I have never been more certain of anything in my life," she whispered.

* * *

Bryallyn silently left the library, book in hand, and began her return journey towards her room. It was late, and she was having trouble sleeping. Not surprising, she realized, given the upheaval in her life at the moment.  _Four days_ , she thought.  _Four more days and then we'll be together forever ..._

Though her thoughts were elsewhere, she sensed the movement in the shadows ahead of her and reached for her dagger just seconds before a hand clasped over her mouth, a second strong hand tightening on her upper arm and pulling her into the deeper shadows in the atrium. She struggled for just a moment, until a masculine whisper said, "Not too bad for a ranger ..."

Bryallyn almost hit him with her book, but Nathaniel was too quick and caught her wrist with his hand. Leaning forward, she let her lips tangle lightly with his. "Nathaniel ...," she breathed just moments before he deepened their connection, effectively silencing her.

Nathaniel felt her drop the blade and book, heard the soft sounds as they landed at their feet. Bringing his hands to her face, he tilted her head slightly so he could taste her fully. Groaning softly, he felt her arms slide around his waist, tightening her hold there.

Bryallyn pulled back a moment later, gasping for breath. Resting her head against his chest, she held him tightly, her arms locking behind his back. When he lifted a hand to her head, pressing it close to him, she smiled, knowing that this was indeed right, they were meant to be together.

* * *

Bryallyn exited the kitchens, Constant at her side. Sighing heavily, she muttered, "Can you not leave Nan alone for just a couple more days? We don't need her angry with us right now!"

The mabari whined sorrowfully and Bryallyn could only smile at him. Giving the hound a hand signal to tell him to find Oren to play, she watched him trot off, tongue lolling over the side of his mouth, an almost laughing sound being emitted. Shaking her head, she turned towards the left, choosing the pathway that led around towards the chapel.  _Perhaps a few moments in silent meditation would help?_  She had been discovering as of late that as the date of the wedding approached, the more her nerves would begin to skitter and jump. She had taken to escaping to the chapel periodically in an effort to find a quiet place in which she could center herself, focus on the good that would come out of all of this.

When she entered the chapel, she found Mother Mallol kneeling in prayer. Deciding not to bother the priestess, Bryallyn took a seat on one of the benches nearby that had been moved into position for the ceremony to take place in two days. Closing her eyes, taking a deep breath, she centered her attentions and began her meditations.

Today, however, she was finding the focus difficult to find. Each time she thought she might be making progress, the pointy edge of a niggling doubt would prod it's way back ….  _Oh Maker, what if Nathaniel changes his mind about us? What if I can't make him happy?_ _What if …._

Nathaniel was leading his younger sister on a tour of the keep when he spotted Bryallyn heading off in the opposite direction. A soft laugh brought his attention back and Delilah teased him about the lack of attention he had been paying to her as of late. She giggled in delight when this caused him to blush. "Go after her, brother," she murmured tolerantly. "Perhaps she is headed to the chapel and you two can have a moment of uninterrupted peace."

Nathaniel did just that. When he entered the chapel, a small but nicely kept one, he found Bryallyn off to the left, her eyes closed in contemplation, and the priestess rising to her feet. Quickly, he stepped forward to offer the older woman his arm. "Thank you," she murmured gratefully. "Is there something I might help you with, young man?"

Nathaniel smiled. "No, Mother," he told her. "I have found her."

The priestess smiled gently, biting her lip to keep from grinning at him. "I would assume that is why we are having a marriage ceremony in two days," she replied. With a wink, she turned and left the room.

Nathaniel glanced over at Bryallyn then just in time to see her eyes open and lift to his. The smile she gave him was brilliant, filled with happiness and joy, and he could only wonder at how he was able to make that happen when most people thought of him as broody, even morose.

Bryallyn rose and moved to his side. "Are you here to escort me?" she asked, sliding her arm through his. She was finding that his presence was doing more to calm her at the moment than her attempts at meditating had.

"Perhaps, my lady," he replied, leading her out of the chapel. He saw her nod down the hall to the left in the direction of the great hall. Turning that way, they walked quietly, arm in arm.

Before entering the hall, Bryallyn stopped him and turned. "Thank you for finding me," she murmured, leaning forward to kiss his cheek.

As he watched her eyes, he realized she was referring to more than his arriving in the chapel just a few moments before. Without another word, she opened the door to the hall and led him inside.

* * *

Bryallyn lay in bed, curled into a ball, sobbing softly. Biting her lower lip, she wondered at what had come over her to possibly think that this arrangement would be anything but an unmitigated disaster.  _What have I done?_  she thought.  _It will be a catastrophe the likes of which no one has seen since Andraste's Exalted March!_

The soft sound of her door opening had Bryallyn lifting her head slightly ... to find the man behind all of her concerns stepping inside. "Nathaniel!" she gasped as she bolted up. She knew she looked a fright, that her face was stained with tears, her eyes swollen, her cheeks puffy.

Nathaniel crossed to the empty side of her bed, sliding beneath the covers and pulling her close to him, holding her, rubbing her back, soothing her. The moment his hand touched her, he felt her start crying again, and by the time she was leaning against his chest, his shirt was half damp. "Hush, Bry," he told her. "Everything will be just fine."

"H-how?" she sobbed. "I - I can't -"

Nathaniel lifted a finger to her lip. Then, tilting her head up towards his, he asked softly, "Do you trust me?" He saw her nod immediately. "Then know this: everything will be fine. I promise." He pulled her closer, held her tightly and continued to rub her back with his hand.

Bryallyn felt the fears that she had been fighting all evening dissipate at his touch. Taking long moments to simply soak up the attention, the love, the concern he had for her, she soon found herself drifting off to sleep.

Before giving in completely, she managed, "Who?"

Nathaniel stirred slightly at her softly voiced question. "Who what?"

"Who sent you?"

Nathaniel chuckled. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he returned. He felt her stirring, and rather than having her wake up further, he told her, "It was your mother and father ... after a rather interesting discussion regarding the early days of their relationship."

Bryallyn frowned. "What?"

"I will tell you later," he promised, moving a hand to the base of her neck and rubbing gently there. "Suffice it to say that both believe you to be very much like your mother, and were afraid you might be having ... second thoughts. ***** "

Bryallyn shook her head. "Not ... second thoughts ...," she managed, sliding her arms around his chest.

Nathaniel knew the moment she gave in to sleep, but he did not release her. Instead, he adjusted his position on the bed, and lay down beside her, still holding her close, keeping her calm and restful. Soon, he too was asleep.

Some time later, as gently as possible, Eleanor Cousland woke her future son-in-law. With a smile of thanks, she whispered, "You still have time to get back to your room before people start stirring." When he was standing beside her, Eleanor kissed his cheek. "Thank you, dear boy," she told him.

Nathaniel smiled. Kissing her cheek in return, he murmured softly, "I'm glad I could help."

As he left the room, Eleanor adjusted the blankets around her daughter's sleeping form and smiled, knowing now for certain in her own mind that Nathaniel was nothing like his father. "You have yourself a keeper there, darling girl," she whispered as she neared the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A/N: reference to We Do What Must Be Done.


	19. Wedding Bells

Bryallyn stood before the mirror staring at her reflection.  _Can this really be me?_  she wondered in amazement.  _How can it? I feel so … different from who and what I see …._

A light touch upon her arm caused Bryallyn to pull her gaze from the mirror and turn it upon her friend. "You look lovely, Bry," Delilah told her as she reached up to adjust one of the brightly colored ribbons hanging from Bryallyn's headpiece. Her hair had been left hanging loose and below her waist, the curls had been brushed until they shone and twisted around the ribbons. The sides were swept back, twisted into a long plait that trailed down the center and ended about her waistline.

Delilah had been with Bryallyn, at her brother's request, since early that morning when both women had risen and taken the breakfast that Nan had brought to the bride's room. Delilah had specific instructions (which she had found amusing coming from her brother) to keep Bryallyn's nerves calm, assist her with dressing and styling her hair and arranging all of her accoutrements, and just simply being her friend. "It will seem strange to have a sister after all of these years," Delilah continued as she smoothed out the skirt to Bryallyn's dress. Then with a grin and a mischievous glint in her eyes, she added, "But it will be nice to have assistance in teasing my brother!"

Bryallyn laughed lightly, but the majority of her focus was still upon the reflection in the mirror. She lifted a hand to touch her neckline where she was wearing the badger pendant that Nathaniel had given her before his departure for the Free Marches. She had removed the charm that the fortune teller had given her in Denerim six months before (all safe and packed away in her belongings for later), but this was one she refused to remove before the ceremony.

Delilah stepped forward then, moving into the reflection so that Bryallyn could see her. She too had dressed nicely, her shoulder length dark hair pulled back at the sides, a garland of flowers with a few ribbons hanging from it also adorning her head. Her smile was what Bryallyn noticed first. "The dress is gorgeous," Delilah told her softly, her eyes lowering to the cream colored silk edged in blue and silver (Cousland) and dark green and golden yellow (Howe) embroidery around the neck and the hem. "But I think you might consider wearing this as well?"

Bryallyn glanced up to her friend to see Delilah lifting a long swath of patterned wool, again in both the Cousland and Howe colors folded in half so that it was about six inches wide. Delilah settled the sash at Bryallyn's left shoulder where she used a silver pin in the shape of the Cousland laurel leaves to hold it in place. Then pulling the ends together at Bryallyn's lower right hip, she fastened the two tails together with another silver pin, this one of the bear of house Howe. "There. What do you think?"

Bryallyn felt quick tears forming in her eyes, and it was a struggle to keep them from falling and smearing the light cover of make up she was wearing. "Oh, Del … you didn't have to -"

Delilah grinned and hugged Bryallyn. "Yes, my friend, I did," she replied as the door to the room opened behind them. "And the plaid turned out quite well if I do say so myself!"

"It's beautifully done, Delilah," Eleanor Cousland announced as she entered the room, "and it is quite fitting for today's festivities." Nodding at Delilah, the younger woman turned to leave the room leaving mother and daughter alone. Moving to stand behind her daughter, Eleanor's smile appeared in the mirror. "Are you ready darling?"

Bryallyn took a deep breath and nodded. "I am," she breathed softly, her eyes locked onto her mother's in the reflective glass. Smiling, she turned and faced her mother.

The door opened again then, and Bryce Cousland entered. Bryallyn saw the look of surprise on her father's face as he took in her appearance. "Papa?" she called softly, using the term for him that she often used when they were alone.

Bryce crossed to his daughter's side immediately and leaned down to kiss her forehead. "My fierce girl … all grown up and about to become someone's wife." He sighed. "Ah, Pup, there are days you make me feel like a very old man … but your mother and I are incredibly happy for you and Nathaniel."

Bryallyn blushed a bit, but she did smile first at her father and then her mother. "Thank you," she murmured, and sincerely hoped that they understood that she meant for far more than the wedding ceremony in which they were about to participate.

Straightening, Bryce cleared his throat and said, "Right then … shall we go?" he offered his daughter his arm first, and then his wife the other and together they maneuvered their way through the keep to the chapel.

* * *

Nathaniel stood at the front of the chapel waiting. From the moment Fergus and Devlyn had escorted him down from his room, he'd been searching deep for his training and skills involving patience and calm … and  _patience_. Not so much to get him from that moment in time until the start of the ceremony, but to get him beyond the banter and snickers of his companions who, like he, were dressed in kilts made of the plaid that Delilah had woven, worn in the style of their ancestors dating back to King Calenhad's time.

The idea had come to him months before, shortly after Bryallyn had agreed to marry him. They had spent an afternoon in the Cousland library with Bryallyn instructing him on the Cousland family history, when he had come across an artist's rendition of one of the long ago battles. Nathaniel had found the idea of wearing the plaid interesting, particularly when Bryallyn, unknowing of his intentions, had expressed interest in the picture. Thus guaranteed (or so he hoped!) of success, Nathaniel had approached Delilah.

Aligning himself with his sister to create the plaid that was a mixture of the colors of both families, Nathaniel then set about convincing his future brother-in-law (which in itself was a battle to behold) and his second (Dev swore that he would get back at him later) to wear them as well. The colors worked well with all three men involved, and they sported white tunics tucked beneath the plaid, black vests with a white rose attached, and dark leather boots. When Nathaniel had found Fergus and Dev that morning after they had dressed, the two had started the day by giving Nathaniel a hard time about his choice, but Nathaniel could tell by what they both did and did not say that they were not really opposed to the idea.

Now, as he ran through his training once again to find the peace and calm that he needed as he waited, he glanced at his two friends. Dev was, well, typical Dev in that he was joking with and telling amusing stories to little Oren and his mother as they sat to the side while Fergus spoke with the Arl and Arlessa of Amaranthine. Nathaniel scanned the rest of the guests which included Banns, Arls and other nobles of varying levels of society. He noticed on the far side of the room the representative sent by King Cailan and Queen Anora. He also spotted Bann Teagan, whom Fergus had introduced him to the evening before, speaking with Bann Alfstanna. Nathaniel shook his head a moment, silently wondering when this event had taken on such grand proportions, though he suspected that his bride had argued against it.

Nathaniel's gaze was caught by a movement at the doorway and he turned to spy his sister entering. Delilah spoke to the musicians who were purposely located near the door, and soon the soft strains of music could be heard over the quiet rustling of guests taking their seats. Nathaniel watched as Delilah looked quickly in his direction, grinned at him, and then moved to her position. Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Nathaniel glanced up to his right to see Fergus nudging him forward. "Time to begin," he said quietly.

For the briefest of moments, Nathaniel felt an unfamiliar and inexplicable wave of panic, but he squashed the feeling and moved into position, turning to face the doorway … and his future.

* * *

There was a moment, right after Mother Mallol announced that they were husband and wife, when Bryallyn felt as if time stood still. She stared up at Nathaniel, saw he was feeling it too. Their hands closed together, the ceremonial ribbon wrapped around them signaling their joining as one ... and then time began to speed up once more, the sounds of clapping and murmurings of the gathered guests heightened in the small chapel at the estate.

Bryallyn smiled slightly as Nathaniel's left arm slid around her shoulders, dropping to her waist while his right hand still held hers tightly before he began leading her down the aisle and out the door. They followed the pathway to the great hall where they had been told by Bryce and Eleanor to head after the ceremony. Once inside the room, for the brief moment that they had alone, Nathaniel spun her around and pulled her to him, kissing her fiercely, deeply, longingly. Bryallyn nearly collapsed against him, her own emotions running high. And then, in the moments before the door opened once more to allow the guests entrance, she pulled him towards the end of the room near the hearth where they were to greet them.

The festivities were complete that day with good music, better food and welcome company. Aside from the families of the bride and groom, an assortment of nobles from around Ferelden were in attendance. Bryallyn sincerely hoped that she and Nathaniel would be allowed to leave soon, though, for all of the noise and the overcrowded feel of the hall was making her feel faint. At one point, she had to step outside of the hall jiust to get a good, deep breath of fresh air.

She was leaning her back against the wall when the door opened once more. Turning, she found herself face to face with her father-in-law, Rendon Howe. Swallowing hard, for she had no love for this man, only his son, she greeted him, "Good afternoon, my lord."

Rendon Howe straightened his posture, staring down the length of his nose at Byrallyn. "Ahh," he acknowledged her, his nasal tone grating on her nerves. "There you are. I hope your absence from the party is not an indication of your sudden change of mind regarding your joining with my son?"

Bryallyn shook her head, wondering why this man always had to turn everything, even the most innocent gestures, into something more negative. "I stepped out for a moment only," she explained, "for a bit of fresh air." Rising to her full height, she nodded at the doorway. "I was about to return."

Bryallyn watched the man survey her, his beady eyes narrowing upon her. Bryallyn barely managed to contain a shudder at his overly familiar liberties. "I honestly have to wonder at him sometimes," the Arl murmured.

Bryallyn frowned. "Nathaniel?" She saw him nod. "How do you you mean, my lord?" she couldn't refrain from asking.

The man sniffed, locking his gaze with hers. "Why, in choosing you, of course. What stroke of genius could have possessed him, I wonder?" A moment later, his hand lifted one of hers so that he could pat it with the other. He continued quietly as he began opening the door, "You should enjoy it while you can, young lady. You never know how long these things will last ..."

Having just stepped back into the room with his last comment, Bryallyn found that she had to school her emotions so that the others in the room would not notice her upset.  _What a peculiar thing to say to a newlywed, particularly your son's wife!_  Seconds later, she felt a hand at her elbow and glanced up to find Nathaniel standing there, a worried expression crossing his features. "Problems?" he queried as they both watched the Arl cross the room to speak with one of the other nobles. Bryallyn lifted an eyebrow in question and he clarified, "I saw the expression on your face as you walked in. I know how he can be."

Bryallyn smiled softly to herself and leaned into his comforting presence for just a brief moment. "Later," she promised. Noting then he had an expectant, if wary look on his face, she asked, "What is it?"

"They are wanting us to dance," he said softly, for her ears only.

Bryallyn gasped softly.  _NO!_  Closing her eyes tight, she groaned. She thought back to the promise she had made Nathaniel when they first began discussing the wedding. Since then, Bryallyn had told her mother repeatedly that this was not to happen! "Nathaniel -" she lifted her eyes to his, pleading with him to understand.

Nathaniel actually chuckled as he led her out onto the now rapidly clearing floor. "I know you said you would take care of it," he said softly, "just as I know it was probably at someone else's insistence that we are being forced to endure this." Placing his right hand firmly at her waist and taking her hand in his left, he winked at her. "I had Delilah teach me more of the steps... and I paid off the musicians to play our song ..."  ******

Bryallyn smiled through sudden tears as she recalled the song that they had danced to in the shadows of the garden at Cailan's coronation and wedding. As the music began to flow, she felt the slight pressure of his hand against her waist and they started to move to the beat of the music. The longer the song went on, the more sure their steps, the more unified their movements became. Spins, twists, turns ... all of it Nathaniel led her through, his confidence obvious and clear to all bystanders who were participating with the clapping and shouts that accompanied the tune.

By the end of the song, as they separated and began catching ragged breaths, grinning almost wildly at each other in reaction, Bryallyn felt sure that Nathaniel had been the one to set this up, not her brother. "Show off!" she hissed at him, but tempered the words with an affectionate squeeze of his hand. Laughing aloud, Nathaniel pulled her close and led her off the dance floor where others were beginning to move into place for the next song.

* * *

When finally noting a moment to escape the festivities, Nathaniel looked across the room towards his bride and nodded towards the door. He watched her ease her way out of the room, giving her a few minutes to make her way to her room where she would change. A short time later he made his exit from the room and after a brief conversation with the Teyrn, Nathaniel hurried off in the same direction.

Almost silently, he slipped into the room, finding Bryallyn sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling on her boots. She had chosen to dress in her armor as they were going to be traveling to one of her father's hunting lodges near the coast. As she stood, reaching across the bed for her pack, Nathaniel slipped out of the shadows and caught her around her waist. He heard her cry out softly, and he squeezed gently. She soon was laughing and smiling up at him. They kissed briefly before he took her pack from her, she reaching for her weapons, before they exited the room.

They paused only briefly at the door to the room he had been using for the past week in order for him to do the same. In between laughter, mostly in relief that they were finally married, and occasional kissing, Nathaniel finally managed to don his own leathers and weapons. Taking his pack as well, he followed Bryallyn down the hall and through a side passage that she assured him led out a secret exit of the castle. From there it was a short distance to the stables where they found Nathaniel's horse already saddled and ready to depart. Additionally, Bryallyn found her mother's newest steed, Osprey, saddled for her. "The Teyrna said you was to take him, m'lady," the stableboy announced to Bryallyn. "She said you was the only one other than her who can ride him and on your wedding day you was to have the best."

Nathaniel gave her a look and Bryallyn blushed. "What can I say?" she told him. "I have a way with stubborn animals."

Nathaniel chuckled as he attached her pack to Osprey and gave her a leg up. "Definitely the big brutes, I see," he teased.

Bryallyn rolled her eyes, but replied, "Yes, well, we can discuss that later," she told him.

Just moments later, they were riding out of the stables. Before turning out the gates of the castle, Bryallyn glanced over her shoulder to see her parents standing at the top of the stairs. She felt Nathaniel pull to a halt beside her, giving her time to make her goodbyes. With a slightly tearful smile and a wave, returned by both Bryce and Eleanor, Bryallyn nodded at her husband who led them out through the gates and into their married journey together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: ** the song is Under a Violet Moon by Blackmore's Night


	20. New Beginnings

Bryallyn knew the location of the hunting lodge from years of visitations with her parents. Nathaniel, she suspected, had been briefed by her father during the previous days, just in case they should become separated during their journey. Thankfully, the trip was a short one, and uneventful.

They arrived just as the sun was beginning to fall behind the treeline, darkening their surroundings to a point where they would have had to stop for the night anyway. The "hunting lodge" was not nearly so large or grand as Highever Castle, but it was big enough to require a small staff who had been alerted of their impending arrival.

Their horses taken by the stableboy, Dylan, and the gameskeeper, Sanderson, Bryallyn led her husband of only a few hours inside to meet Sanderson's' wife, Anna. The woman always reminded Bryallyn of Nan back at Highever, and she soon had Nathaniel feeling the most relaxed he'd felt in weeks. She urged them to change into something comfortable and then meet in the small dining room where she laid out a small meal, at Bryallyn's personal request, including a luscious venison stew, fresh bread, mead and a desert of rice pudding. After serving the two newlyweds, Anna informed them that she would be retiring to the gamekeeper's cabin located on the far side of the stables, to leave them in peace.

And then they were alone. Bryallyn noticed the moment that Nathaniel realized this. She'd been watching him closely, as she always did. Ever since meeting him, she had been and was still fascinated by the strength and hidden grace of his hands; the way his brow would furrow when he was trying to work something out in his head, or the lithe, cat-like movements he would make as he walked. When he glanced over at her now as she was sipping her mead, he pushed his plate to the side, settling his hand on the table between them, palm up, silently asking a question. With a shy smile, Bryallyn reached out with her own hand and felt his gently closing around it.

Patiently, Nathaniel kept his gaze upon her, waiting for her to look up at him. When she finally did so, he stood up from the table, pulling her up beside him, into his arms and holding her close for a long moment.

Bryallyn felt her breath leave her in a rush when he lowered his head to hers. She ached for this man, had been aching for him for years, ever since they had met in the gardens at the royal Palace in Denerim so many years before. Only in the past few years or so, since he had admitted his feelings for her and she for him, had she come to realize the full extent of her emotional attachment to him.

Lifting his head from hers at long last, Nathaniel gave her a gentle smile and turned to lead her towards their bedroom in the back of the lodge, now sporting a hearty blaze in the hearth and enough light that candles would not be needed. Inside the room, he closed the door and led her over to a nearby chair. He could see her nervousness in the depths of her eyes, the trembling of her hands and the way she caught her lower lip between her teeth, though she was doing her best not to show it at all.

Deciding to give her a moment of peace to collect herself, Nathaniel walked over to his pack, stored along the far wall near the hearth. Inside, he deftly reached for the box he'd placed in there weeks before. Grasping it firmly, he pulled it out of the bag and closed his hand around it. Rising back to his feet he turned slowly, leaning against the wall and watching Bryallyn as she sat upon the chair, her legs now drawn beneath her, her gaze staring distantly into the fire. Slowly, as if being careful not to startle a wild animal, Nathaniel straightened and walked over to her side. He knelt beside her, easing himself into a seated position upon the floor.

Bryallyn was only slightly startled by his actions. "Nathaniel, you don't need to sit on the floor ..."

Nathaniel smiled, glancing up to her now concerned features. "This is fine," he assured her. His right leg bent so that he could rest his arm upon his knee, he cocked his head to the side and murmured, "I've thought about this day for a long while now."

Bryallyn turned her attention away from the fire and solely upon him. "So have I," she returned softly. "There was a time when I thought perhaps you were not interested in anything beyond simple friendship."

Nathaniel couldn't keep the harsh laughter from escaping his lips. Looking up into her greenish-brown gaze, he admitted, "There was a time I wasn't sure you would think me worthy of your attention."

Bryallyn gasped at this. Sitting up, she slid to her knees on the floor in front of him. "Why, Nathaniel?" she asked while moving to sit beside him. "Why would you think that?"

Sighing, Nathaniel felt her arm slide around his shoulders. For the first time since he had proposed to her, she was voluntarily touching him. Leaning back against her touch, he smiled softly to himself as he felt her adjust her position so that were touching, but facing each other as well. "Perhaps because almost from the moment we met, I've been able to think of no other woman than you? Because I wanted you in my life so badly, I was afraid ..."

Bryallyn blushed, her eyes dropping to her lap where her hands were folded together.

Reaching out, Nathaniel took her left hand in his, lifting it to his lips. "That does not mean that I did not hope, however ..."

Bryallyn's gaze shot back to his, seeing the truth there. "You were so different from the others," she told him as she lifted the hand to his face, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingers before moving to touch loose strands of his long, dark hair that had come free from the braids pulling back, tucking the pieces behind his ear. She watched as he turned his cheek into her touch, until her palm was cupping it. "I remember thinking when we met that you were so ... quiet. When all the others wanted to brag and boast, you remained silent, almost broody."

Nathaniel pulled her hand down to his own, replying simply, "You have met my mother and father. Is it any wonder I was a moody soul?"

Bryallyn's instantaneous reaction was to smile quickly, but she managed to pull it back. However, she noted by his grin that he'd seen it. "You know, I do include your brother in that group," she pointed out.

Nathaniel's chuckle caused her smile to return then. "Yes, I would include Thomas with that bunch of braggarts," he agreed easily. He began rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. "My father is happier with that type of behavior. I, however, am not."

Bryallyn was about to speak when she felt something sliding down the finger on the hand that Nathaniel held. Frowning, for whatever it was felt cool, she glanced down. She could not refrain from gasping at the sight. "Nathaniel, what have you done?" she breathed, lifting her hand slightly, but not pulling it from his grasp.

"I picked these up in the Free Marches before I came home. It is a Tevinter wedding ring, made of silverite; the design is a never ending knotwork chain, called  _Infinity."_  He traced the pattern with his finger along the back of her hand so that she could see what he meant. "The Tevinters would make these for couples to wear to show they were bound together forever; heart, mind, soul." Lifting her hand to his lips, he added, "I thought it might be something to remind you that what I feel for you - now, at this moment, and ever forward - is eternal."

"You saw my parents' rings ...!" Bryallyn thought of the rings Bryce and Eleanor had exchanged back when they had married, the design another never ending chain but of leaves and vines *****.

Nathaniel smiled. He had indeed seen the rings and, though not the common style of the nobility in Ferelden, he knew that it symbolized much more than the simple union between the Teyrn and his wife. Leaning forward now, Nathaniel easily switched positions so that he could hold her hand as he placed another matching ring into her palm. He watched as recognition settled on her features, her fingers closing around the band and placing it between her fingertips and thumb. He watched her as she focused on sliding the band onto his own finger. Once completed, he grasped her hand with his, wrapping his long fingers around her own ... and pulled her close so he could kiss her.

Bryallyn felt herself falling against him, landing upon his chest as he leaned back to the floor. At the same time, he pulled her head down to connect with his, beginning the delightful dance he'd started teaching her so many months before. As they touched, their tongues colliding, their breath mingling together, he lowered a hand to the hem of the tunic she wore and slid his hand beneath.

Bryallyn felt his calloused fingers against her skin and shuddered at the light, fluttery sensations he was causing. Instinctively, she tried to pull away from him, but he used his other hand at her waist to keep her in place. When she finally was able to pull back to catch her breath, she felt him roll over, pulling her beneath him, resting his weight on arms well muscled from his years of training. Bryallyn lifted her eyes to find his. She saw his intentions there, knew she wanted it as well. Nodding slightly, she watched as he smiled, gentle and caring, before moving to unlace the closure at the neck of her tunic.

Bryallyn watched his stormy grey eyes as Nathaniel focused on the job at hand. Smiling to herself, she licked her lips unconsciously ... then realized an instant later that such an action with him that close was a sure-fire method to having him kiss her again.

This time as their lips touched, Nathaniel used the distraction to his advantage. When she pulled away moments later to catch her breath, he moved quickly, shifting her so that he could slide the tunic up and over her head and arms. By the time she realized what he had done, it was too late. When he glanced into her eyes again, he expected to see surprise, hesitation ... and found the exact opposite. When he opened his mouth to speak, he suddenly felt her slender fingers moving beneath the material of his tunic.

Bryallyn had noted earlier that Nathaniel had loosed the closure to his own tunic, presumably because he, like her brother and father, did not like the tight, choking feeling of material closed around their throats. She now saw his surprise at her reaction to him, and when he sat up to remove the garment, she found her opening. Bolting up, she moved to kneel in front of him. She waited for him to lift the material over his head and in that transition period when his vision was blocked, she moved forward to strike ...

Nathaniel barely managed to keep from crying out as her lips and tongue made contact with his skin. Yanking fiercely, heedless to any damage to his shirt or pulling at his hair, he removed the garment and reached for her.

Bryallyn was ready for him and moved towards him as he stretched his arms out for her. Stradling his legs and hips, she sat on his lap and moaned softly as his lips began tracing a path around her neck, eventually lowering to her breasts. She felt his hands at her back, grasping the drawstring to her breast band and yanking once hard to loosen it. Moments later, he had it off, his hands now able to touch her lightly, firmly, kneading. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she caught her breath as he leaned down to use his tongue on her the way she had him ...

At Bryallyn's hoarse, gasping cry, Nathaniel smiled against her skin. He had been waiting for this for so long. To hear her voice echo the cries from his own haunted dreams was more pleasurable than he could have ever imagined.

Bryallyn tightened her arms around his shoulders, holding him to her. Although she was still nervous, the delights that he was introducing her to were more than enough to keep any fear at bay. She had heard servant girls talk, her mother and Nan had each pulled her aside at separate times to discuss what would occur on her wedding night. Bryallyn had a brief moment to think that they certainly couldn't have known about something as enjoyable as this ...

Nathaniel lifted his head, staring down into her eyes, seeing the effects of his attentions as her gaze softened. He pulled himself up on his knees, towering over her only slightly now. Slowly, he rose to his feet, pulling her up with him. There, in front of the warmth of the fire, the minimal light, he lowered her remaining clothing and could not hide the smile turning up at his lips at the sight of her before him.

Bryallyn stepped out of the pile of clothing at her feet, and took a step towards him. Nathaniel grasped her hands as she reached for the closure to his breeches, whispering, "Not just yet." Glancing up at him, she read the battle taking place behind his eyes, and nodded almost imperceptibly. She stood still as he began running his hands all over her body, his fingers setting her skin aflame where he touched. When he reached her face, he pulled her close to kiss her yet again, and Bryallyn took that opportunity to lower her hands once more to the closure of his pants.

Nathaniel knew he had to be getting her to a point where she would be comfortable and allowed her to loosen the ties that held his trousers up. As her fingers skimmed along his waist, he sucked in a harsh breath and was a bit astonished at the very soft and very female chuckle he heard coming from her. Pulling his lips from hers for a moment, he caught her hands and murmured, "You are a saucy minx, my wife!"

Bryallyn felt him lift her into his muscled arms then, carrying her over towards the bed. "Only because you make me so, my husband," she returned. When he set her upon the bed, she moved to her knees quickly, now brought almost the same exact height as he. Again she reached for the waist of his trousers and began to lower the material, her fingers skimming along his waist and hips as she did so.

Groaning at the sensation of touch, Nathaniel stepped back quickly and removed the clothing himself. Eyeing her carefully now, he saw curiosity mixed with nervousness, but then he smiled as he watched her reach out with her left hand, waited patiently for him to grasp it with his right, and then pulled him back towards her.

Taking a brief moment to survey him as he had her, she smiled. She lifted her hands to his chest, lightly furred and very well muscled. She felt him shudder as she ran her fingertips through the hair there, and wondered at his reaction. He didn't react as if it tickled, she realized, though she did hear a soft growl from deep inside his chest as it rumbled at her touch. For some reason, pride she thought might be the right one, this made her smile. With an unknowingly seductive grin, she began backing up on the bed, tugging his hand to pull him with her.

Nathaniel joined her on the bed, laying back onto the pillows and pulling her down half on top of him, half beside him. Lifting his hand to her shoulder, he began touching her again. He loved the silken texture of her skin as his calloused fingers moved over her arms, her shoulders, trailing down her neck and chest and beyond. She had loosed her braid as well, and her dark curls were cascaded over her right shoulder.

Bryallyn felt the now familiar flames licking across her skin at his touch as he explored her body and urged her over onto her back. Once she was looking up at him again, she watched his head lowering again ... "Nathaniel!" she gasped as he began teasing her breasts once more.

Nathaniel chuckled against her as he continued moving his fingers over her body while he teased her with his tongue. When he reached his destination this time, he moved his head back to capture her lips, swallowing her cry as his fingers teased and touched her where no other ever had. Bryallyn's eyes closed at the exquisiteness of the sensations he was drawing from her then. Her breathing becoming increasingly ragged, she pleaded, "Nathaniel - please!"

Nathaniel caught her gaze with his own. He saw the desire there, the love for him, the utter desperation as her body searched for a fulfillment it had never known before. He rolled over her, lifting himself onto his arms again, taking most of his weight there. Slowly, he moved towards her, sliding his body against hers, allowing her to feel him all over. He watched her eyes shoot open in alarm for a moment, but when they settled upon his face, the look relaxed once more. "Bry -"

Lifting her arms to wrap around his neck again, she told him softly, "I know what happens next, my love. It has to happen. I am ready."

Nathaniel shuddered then, suddenly feeling an overwhelming responsibility that he had not quite expected. A moment later, he felt her hand at his cheek, her voice pleading, "Please, my love ..."

Bryallyn adjusted her position for her husband, allowing him to move closer to her. She focused on the feelings she had been experiencing up to that point, watched as he lowered his head and began kissing her again: her forehead, her cheek, the line of her chin, trailing a path down from her neck to he breasts yet again ... This time, she expected the sensation of his mouth pulling her breast beyond his lips, she didn't jump as she had before as his teeth scraped against the skin. As for herself, she began entangling her fingers into his hair. She felt his hand at her waist, holding her, helping her ...

Nathaniel heard her sharply inhaled gasp and winced slightly at the thought that he had intentionally caused her pain, though he knew it had to happen. He'd decided to move quickly, in one sharp thrust so that the worst of the pain would be over immediately. Now as he settled in the cradle of her hips, he ran his eyes over her face, searching for the moment when she would ...

Bryallyn exhaled through her nose slowly, a trick she'd overheard one servant girl telling another about, and found herself pleasantly surprised that it had helped. Grasping her lower lip between her teeth then, she tilted her head to look up into Nathaniel's eyes, nodding as she began moving against him.

Nathaniel saw her eyes widen then. He understood at that moment that the worst of the encounter was over, and she was now focusing on what came next. Swallowing, he moved slowly, prepared to stop for her if she should ask ...

Bryallyn gasped at the sensations he was causing. Her breath speeding up then, she nodded at him, whispering, "Oh, Nathaniel!" She grasped his shoulders then, her nails scraping along his skin as the sensations started rolling through her body.

"Look at me!" he breathed harshly, watching as her eyes snapped towards him. He could see the tension filling her, felt it as her body tightened against and around his. Picking up his rhythm, he watched her go over the edge, heard her cry of abandonment echo throughout the room and his own matching it as he finally gave himself to her completely, making her his wife - heart, body and soul - for all eternity.

* * *

Bryallyn opened her eyes to find Nathaniel's head laying against her. Lifting a hand, she began threading his hair between her fingers, sighing in contentment.

At her light touch, Nathaniel opened his eyes and glanced up at his wife. "Bry?" he murmured, shifting so that his weight was mostly on his arms once more.

Smiling, Bryallyn told him, "I love you."

He chuckled slightly, and asked, "If that is so, why are you crying?" He watched the shock cross her face then and realized she hadn't known. Smiling now, he lifted his hand to her face. Wiping some of the moisture, he turned his fingers so she could see in the dim light.

Bryallyn smiled back at him and shrugged lightly. "Happy tears?" she offered by way of excuse. She watched as he moved to her side then, tucking her up against his chest.

"I will allow that," he told her tolerantly. Wrapping his arms around her then, he murmured near her ear, "I happen to love you too, you see."

Bryallyn closed her eyes, snuggled close to him and very soon fell back to sleep. All was right in her world this night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * reference to We Do What Must Be Done.


	21. While It Lasts

They spent their time together in a variety of ways, not the least of which was getting to know each other on a more comfortable, intimate level. They took walks together in the woods surrounding the lodge, "hunting" but not killing the animals. Bryallyn was more interested in sharing her love of nature and the area she had visited upon many an occasion now with her new husband. Nathaniel, though trained as a warrior first, seemed inclined to appreciate not only her skills, but the benefits to her connection to the wilds. "To be able to call upon a wolf or bear for assistance during a battle would be a great skill indeed," he told her during one such excursion.

Another day they took the horses to the coast, and spent the day walking along the beach, sharing more and more of their past experiences that made them the adults they now were. Nathaniel finally opened up and admitted to her, as they sat staring out at the waves crashing to shore, just how much he had enjoyed their midnight swim years before. "You looked like the most beautiful, but elusive, fish I had ever seen," he whispered near her ear as he held her. "And then when you rose out of the water, the moonlight shining down upon you ..."

Bryallyn blushed and snuggled against his shoulder, keeping her eyes facing out towards the sea. "Not one of my better moments, I grant you," she admitted. "It was not until later that night that I began realizing what I felt for you. Had I known earlier ..."

Nathaniel leaned forward, his voice deep and husky, "Had  _I_  known earlier, I would not have gone off to the Free Marches ... at least, not without you by my side ..."

A third activity had them competing once again, as they were wont to do, with their bows, all under the guise of "training." Additionally, Nathaniel began teaching her some of the blade work he had learned while in the Free Marches in addition to continuing on with the basic skills he had already started with her. "I cannot tell you that I am not bothered," he told her when she reminded him that her training with such weapons was minimal, "knowing that you cannot defend yourself with nothing but a bow. Humor me, love, and let me teach you."

When he looked at her then, she could see both the love and the worry in his grey eyes and she could do nothing but agree with him. But, though they would begin such sessions seriously, inevitably they would be reduced to laughter and amusement (Bryallyn could not keep from laughing with his hands at her waist where she was, she discovered, very ticklish) and ultimately evolving into something much more intimate ...

And when the weather proved to be uncooperative, they would remain indoors beside the fire talking, planning for the future, ... exploring ... Lying upon the large skin on the floor in front of the hearth, Bryallyn glanced up and slightly behind her. "Will you really find happiness serving within my father's ranks?" she asked, her voice filled with concern. "I know you are used to -"

Nathaniel, who was propped up and leaning against his left arm, leaned over to tickle her neck with the stubble that he had let grow. He had decided to be lazy about shaving while they were on their break, and discovered only the night before that Bryallyn was most definitely ticklish around her neck as well as other more delightful places ... "I will be more than happy to serve in your father's ranks, and he has been kind enough to offer me a position equivalent in rank as if I had been squired with him instead of being the newcomer," he murmured. He began trailing his hand along her waist, atop the shift she had donned when they had returned indoors from training after the latest series of storms that had rolled in from the sea.

Bryallyn sighed at his touch, feeling his leisurely caress sparking, stoking and elevating into the licking flames of desire that she had come to expect. "Mmmmm," she hummed, her tone dropping as he continued to tease her skin though the linen. She the light pinching of his fingers at her breasts, the glide of material over the sensitive skin causing her to gasp softly. "You do realize, don't you," she finally managed as he began kissing at the nape of her neck as well, "that ... with us living at the keep ... my mother will start ... badgering you about grandchildren... the moment we ... return?" Bryallyn gasped again, his fingers still toying, though he was now focused on the laces which closed the garment at her neck.

"Who is to say," he breathed huskily at her ear, "that she's not done so already?"

Bryallyn moved to her knees then, still facing the fire, her back to her husband while reaching for the hem of her shift to pull it over her head. But, Nathaniel was too quick for her. Kneeling behind her, he caught her hands in his to still their movement. Using his nose to nudge aside her long curls (for she had discovered early on his fascination with the long, thick lengths of her hair and had taken to leaving it unbound whenever they were indoors), he continued kissing the back of her neck and shoulders as he separated his legs a bit and pulled her closer so that she was partially sitting upon his lap. She shivered at his touch, causing him to smile gently against her skin; heard her breathing hitch as he moved both of his hands to touch, tease and tantalize the tips of her breasts through the fabric before they began drifting lower; heard her breath catch suddenly as she leaned back against him and felt his every growing response to her.

Groaning softly, it was all Bryallyn could do to reply, "Let's not ... disappoint her ..."

Nathaniel caught her earlobe between his teeth then, gently nipping it, tugging it, distracting her as he slowly and gently moved his hands up her legs and beneath the edge of the garment. Her soft, throaty moans were enough to nearly send him over the edge, but he managed to find some level of control. He wasn't ready to end this just yet. "I have no intention," he whispered, "of disappointing her."

Bryallyn placed her hands upon his thighs, her grasp tight though his breeches. His hands continued to roam, her breathing quickening to an ever increasing rate to the point that she wondered if she would be alive by the end of things. When one of his hands began pulling the shift up her leg, exposing the flesh there, she could only watch as he teased and taunted the skin, tracing indiscriminate patterns with his fingers until they reached ... "Nate!" she cried out, her body betraying her as waves of desire rolled over and through her at his touch.

Nathaniel grunted softly as she began to tremble against him. His breathing caught in his chest at the sensation of her hands tightening against his thigh muscles, her nails digging in for purchase. "Relax, love," he breathed, discovering his own breaths were becoming more erratic.  _How does she do this to me?_  he half wondered as he banded his arm around her waist to keep her from falling.

Bryallyn groaned, her entire body shuddering against his hand, his body. She moved her hands to the arm around her mid-section, her hands clutching at it in desperation. "I've got you," she heard him whisper, before she gave in and fell against his chest, her head thrown back upon his shoulder. She knew that Nathaniel shifted her, laying her on the floor as he rose and stepped away for a moment, but she lost track of time, her body relaxed and sated. When next she realized his presence, he was behind her again, lying beside her, lifting her shift and kissing her skin as it became exposed to him. It took some effort, particularly since this new assault was rekindling the sensations she had just experienced.

His hands were feather light as they removed her small clothes; gently guiding her out of the shift; setting her aflame once more. Bryallyn tried to roll over on her back, but Nathaniel blocked the move, pushing her onto her belly instead. Bryallyn had an idea what he was after, and murmured brokenly, "Leave the shift ..." As he did so, he adjusted an arm beneath her, gently tugging her until she had risen to her hands and knees. It was at that point that Bryallyn felt him move behind her, sidling up so that his body nearly covered hers; strong hands at her hips, caressing, convincing her to move with him. She could feel the scrape of the linen as it rubbed against her back, caught between their bodies; his hand tightening at her hip, increasing their pace incrementally; his lips and teeth at her neck and shoulders, nipping gently and causing her to cry out.

Nathaniel heard something different in her voice this time - a hint of desperation and he could not help but smile ... but then realized that he too was doing the same. "Bry," he gasped, his head lowering against her back. "Love - I -"

Bryallyn felt as if she might pass out from lack of air. She moved her body slightly, and realized as she did so that the shift in position was such that it allowed her the release she was seeking. "Nathan ... iel ...!" But Nathaniel could not respond as he too was falling ...

* * *

As they neared the end of their week of seclusion, they began to feel the pressure of the real world intruding upon their "wedded bliss." Perhaps nothing more so than the occurrence on their last night at the lodge.

The evening began simply enough: their evening meal was served before Anna and her family retreated for the night to their home. Bryallyn and Nathaniel ate in the dining area, moving to the bedroom a short time later, curling together in bed, exploring each other as they had been all week long before falling into deep sleep, arms wrapped around each other.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Bryallyn woke slightly and rolled over to wrap her arm around her husband's chest ... only to come suddenly and completely wide awake, bolting upright in the middle of the bed. Nathaniel, feeling her movement and was instantly alert as well. Rising beside her, he placed a hand at her shoulder and whispered near her ear, "What is it?"

Bryallyn kept her arm hard against his chest, stilling his movement as she concentrated, her eyes closed so that she could center her hearing on what had disturbed her from rest ... "In the hall," she hissed after a moment, "footsteps and ... something hard and unforgiving ... metal?" Rolling out of bed she reached for her robe and secured it before taking her blade up from the night table and sliding it in the belt. As she then moved silently across the room for her bow and quiver, she saw Nathaniel dress as well, sliding on his pants and grabbing his wicked looking daggers, intentionally left within arms reach beside the bed. Quickly, she joined him behind the wooden door, just as it began to open slowly.

Nathaniel readied his blades and Bryallyn nocked an arrow and pulled the bowstring taut in anticipation as three dark shadows began to creep into the darkened room. Nathaniel glanced at his wife briefly, saw her nod as he gestured for her to take out the one furthest away while he went for the two closest. Kneeling down, he allowed her to use his shoulder for balance as she loosed her first flight before leaping to his feet, his daggers swirling around him in a flurry of movement as he advanced on the enemy.

Bryallyn had loosed a second shot before her target was able to turn after the first penetrated his shoulder, this one succeeding in finding his hip. She maneuvered her way around the others, thanks to Nathaniel shouldering them away from the door, and crossed the room, coming to face her opponent near the hearth. As she arrived, she found the man still attempting to draw his sword on her, though he had lost his shield with the loss of his arm movement. She approached him, turning her bow parallel to the ground and jabbed the man in the face beneath his helm, hearing a crunching noise as she broke his nose. Lifting her bare foot, she placed it upon his chest and forced him to the ground, before taking her dagger, hidden in the belt of her robe at her waist, and stabbing him in the throat, ending his life with a burbling gasp.

Nathaniel was able to disarm his first opponent of his sword and shield quickly, knocking him down in the process. He then turned towards the second, engaging the man quickly. The battle was not long, but it did require his entire focus. By the time his opponent's lifeless body was on the floor, Nathaniel realized the man behind him had moved positions. Turning, Nathaniel watched through the dim light as the one remaining soldier bore down upon his unsuspecting wife. "Bry!" he gasped, spinning around. Anger filling him, Nathaniel grabbed one of his daggers, flipped it in the air with a toss so that his fingers could wrap around the blade; then he threw it, hard, with a flick of his wrist as he brought it by his ear.

He didn't wait to see the blade embed itself within the man's back: like with the boar that had attacked her years before, he simply knew that the blade would find its target. Instead, he rushed around to his wife's side, pulling her quickly over by the bed, on the far side of the room, in case any more attackers were to try entering. Kneeling beside her, he began checking her over for injuries. "Nathaniel," she breathed, catching his face with her hand, forcing him to look at her, "Nathaniel, I'm fine."

Nathaniel breathed a sigh of relief before dropping his forehead to rest upon hers for the briefest of moments. They remained in position behind the bed for a few more long moments, and when it seemed that no one else was coming after them they slowly rose and moved to dress in their armor, quickly. Bryallyn pointedly ignored the bodies littering their floor, skirting around them both as she retrieved her armor and when she moved to join her husband. Arming themselves, they stepped out of the room and began searching the lodge. When they found the building clear, they headed towards the door leading out to the courtyard.

They could hear the nervous sounds of horses coming from two directions, one to their east a short ways, but out of sight, and the other from the stables. Turning her face into the light wind, she gasped and murmured, "Fire!" Nathaniel nodded, and began walking down the footpath towards the stables, Bryallyn following behind him. They found the stables themselves were not in danger of burning, but when they rounded the corner that led to Sanderson's home with his family, Bryallyn felt her chest tighten. "Oh no!"

Nathaniel had to grasp her wrist tightly in his and pull her back to keep Bryallyn from running towards the burning building. "Bry, no, it's too late!"

Bryallyn tried to pull from his grasp, but he would not let her go. "I have to! Dylan and Anna are in there too!"

Nathaniel pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her to keep her by his side. "Bry, the building is almost gone. If they had survived, they would be out here attempting to put out the flames, or moving the horses to safety." Bryallyn shook her head in denial, but Nathaniel felt her sagging in reluctant acceptance. Turning back towards the stables, he told her, "We have to get the horses and get out of here before anyone else is sent. We have to get word to our families."

Bryallyn followed him back inside the stable, quickly saddling Osprey, finding his gear nearby as Dylan had left it after the last time Bryallyn had returned from riding. Ignoring tears that were slowly rolling down her cheeks, she finished the preparations and began leading the animal out to the front courtyard. Nathaniel was right behind her.

They tied the horses to a tree near the lodge as the ducked back inside to get their belongings. Though the sun was beginning to rise, the full moon was still bright. Light seeped in between the curtains in the room making it difficult for Bryallyn to focus on her things as opposed to the dead bodies lying about the room.

Grabbing her pack, Bryallyn turned towards Nathaniel. She found him kneeling beside one of the bodies, examining the armor, the shields. "What is it?" she asked.

"Do you recognize this device?" he asked, lifting and turning a shield so she could see it clearly.

Bryallyn frowned. "No, I don't think so." As the daughter of Teyrn Bryce Cousland, one of the many things she had learned as a child was to recognize the heraldry devices of all families and nobles in Ferelden. She even recognized many from outside the country as well, but this one had her puzzled.

"It belongs to one of the Marcher states," Nathaniel told her, rising to his feet. He grasped the edge of the leather containing the device and yanked it off of the shield. Pocketing it beneath his armor, he turned and gave her a concerned look. "Someone wanted us dead."

Bryallyn nodded, turning to leave the room. She needed to get outside again, into fresh air so that she could think. Nathaniel followed, grabbing their packs first. When he walked through the door, he found her standing over near the animals, untying her steed. Walking to her side, he took the reins from her hands. "We need to wait for sunrise," he told her. "We may have others along the way to deal with." When he saw her head snap up to his, he observed she was foundering in a sea of emotions.

"We need what cover of darkness we have left in order to get beyond the danger and get back to Highever," she insisted. She tried to take the reins back, but found that he would not release them. "Nathaniel, I have to get to my family! If these men were sent to get us, what about the rest ...?"

"And we will," he promised, stepping towards her. "We will get to both our families. But we have to be sensible or we will end up dead, just as they," he gestured towards the lodge, "planned."

Her temper flaring, Bryallyn glared at him and told him, "I  _am_  being sensible!" She took another step away from him. Cursing beneath her breath, she turned and stormed off.

Sighing, Nathaniel attached their packs to the animals and re-secured Osprey's reins before turning to go after his wife. He found her on the back side of the lodge, staring out towards the forest beyond. Stepping closer, he heard her soft voice chanting, saw her move her hands slightly, before kneeling to the ground. Frowning for a moment, Nathaniel wondered what she was doing, ... until he saw a pair of yellowish eyes glowing near the treeline.

Bryallyn knew the moment Nathaniel arrived, having heard his steps as he rounded the building. She'd chosen to ignore him, her focus solely on calling the wolf to her side. Now that he had arrived, Bryallyn rose to her feet, signaled the animal to her side and turned to face her husband. "Since we don't have Constant with us," she told him, "I thought I would call in reinforcements. Now let's go."


	22. On Alert

They rode quickly, stopping once very briefly to give the animals much needed rest. Thankfully, they were close enough to Highever that it was only a matter of a few hours before they were clamoring through the town and into the courtyard of the castle.

They arrived at the keep early, and without warning, which in itself was warning enough to the guards on duty. As they reined in their mounts in the courtyard, both newlyweds could hear the shouts of the watch making their way down the line and back to the command center inside. Nathaniel was the first to dismount and hurried over to assist his wife from her own mount, allowing the stable boys to take both animals away for care. Any packs or gear they had would undoubtedly make it to their quarters before they did.

Hurriedly, Bryallyn led Nathaniel into the keep, heading directly for the great hall. Though home earlier than planned, she knew that the Captain and next guard shift would be there, certain that they were at that very moment being briefed on her and Nathaniel's arrival. As they pushed the doors open, she found, as she had hoped, Ser Gilmore was on duty and being briefed by one of the members of the watch. "Rory!" she gasped upon entering.

"My lady!" Rory Gilmore was of an age with both Fergus and Nathaniel. He had been in the teryn's service since squiring at age twelve, and grown up with the Cousland siblings. "We were not expecting you until this evening!" he exclaimed as he joined the couple.

Bryallyn glanced up at Nathaniel who nodded. Taking over for her while she sat at the table, utterly exhausted, Nathaniel began to explain what had occurred at the hunting lodge, watching as the Captain's features grew more and more concerned with each word. "Bry," Nathaniel finally suggested, "why don't you go find your parents and fill them in. We may have to move quickly on this."

Rising to her feet, Bryallyn nodded and left the room. She headed immediately towards the private apartments and was thankful to find that an alert servant had forewarned them of her return. As she approached her parents' room, she found her father exiting, and her mother following close behind. "Pup!" Bryce exclaimed in surprise, his voice rough in concern. He pulled her close as she neared. "Pup, what is it? What has happened?"

"Papa," Bryallyn breathed in relief, thankful to find all was well with her family.

"Darling, what happened?" Eleanor asked as she took her daughter in her arms. Her gaze drifting up to her husband's, she continued, "Where is Nathaniel? Is he safe? Is everything all right?"

Bryallyn found herself at a loss for words suddenly, now that she was surrounded once more by her family. "We ... we were attacked ... at the lodge last night ...," she said softly. She heard her mother's gasp, felt her father's alarm as his whole body stiffened, and she turned to face Bryce. "Papa," she choked out, "Sanderson, Anna and Dylan ... were all killed … murdered!"

Bryce pulled Bryallyn close again, glancing at his wife over the top of their daughter's head. A moment later, their exchange was interrupted by the sound of Fergus joining them. Bryallyn saw him exit his room and broke free from her father's embrace to run to him, hugging him in relief. Concerned, Fergus wrapped his arms about his sister as he glanced up at his father who simply shook his head, indicating that the news was not good. "Oriana? Oren?" Bryallyn asked urgently. "Where are they? Are they safe?"

"Still sleeping," he assured her quickly, a frown of confusion in his eyes. "What's the trouble out here? Bry?"

"There has been an attack against your sister and I," Nathaniel announced wearily as he walked up the pathway. He nodded his greeting towards his new family. Wrapping his arms around Bryallyn as she turned towards him, he continued, "I've briefed Ser Gilmore who is doubling the guards at the moment. Also, I have given him the details of what we know at this point which, I'm afraid, is not much." He paused for a brief moment then added, "I ran into Devlyn as well, and told him what passed ... he was on his way to assist Rory last I saw of him ..."

Eleanor stepped forward then, signalling one of the servants at the far end of the hall. When the woman approached, Eleanor spoke to her in a hushed voice for a moment before turning her attention back to her family. "If you've informed Rory, Nathaniel, then things should be well in hand. Bryce, why don't you and Fergus head down and talk with Rory and Dev." Both men had stepped away just as she began her suggestion. Turning to her daughter and Nathaniel then, she began herding them towards Bryallyn's room. "I'm having some food brought up for you both," she explained as they moved inside. "Take some time to bathe, change, eat and rest. Later you can join us in the hall for our next strategy session."

Nathaniel reached out before the teyrna could leave and caught her by her arm. "Your Grace -"

Giving him a warm smile, Eleanor told him, "Nathaniel, do you not think you could at least refer to me as 'my lady' if not 'mother?' We are related now."

Nathaniel blushed slightly, but was not quite ready for that familiarity yet. "My lady," he began again, "my family? Are they still here? Have they departed for Amaranthine?"

Eleanor nodded. "Your mother, brother and sister all left four days ago. Your father is still here since he and Bryce are all planning to ride to Ostagar together. We are still waiting on his troops, but they should be along any day now," she explained. "I will see that he is awakened and brought down to the briefing in the hall." Then with an affectionate pat to Nathaniel's arm, Eleanor added softly, "Nathaniel, thank you ... for protecting my daughter."

Nathaniel held the older woman's gaze for a long moment, reading a cacophony of emotions in her green gaze, the most prevalent of which at the moment was gratitude. With a smile, he replied, "She has come to mean a great deal to me as well, my lady."

When they were finally alone, Nathaniel led Bryallyn to the bed where he began to assist her with her armor. She seemed to be in shock now that the news had been passed on, and he found it increasingly difficult to remove her armor as she participated less and less in the process. When he at last had her down to her small clothes, he left her sitting on the bed to draw the water in the tub in the corner of the room. One of the creature comforts of her great grandfather, Bryallyn had once told him, was to have running water pipes installed in the castle so that the servants would not have to drag water back and forth from the kitchens.

When he had the tub filled, he coaxed Bryallyn to join him, as she was in no condition to bathe herself. It took him nearly twice as long as he'd planned, but he finally managed to get them both bathed, hair washed and rinsed, and back to the bed without too much difficulty. Once beneath the sheets and blankets, Nathaniel pulled Bryallyn close, his arm around her waist in a gesture of protection. Within moments, they were both asleep.

Some time later, Nathaniel was not sure how long, but knew it to be at least several hours, he was woken by the sound of the door to the room opening. He opened his eyes to see Nan carrying in a tray which she set on the nearby table. Then, before exiting, she crossed over to the bed. She noticed Nathaniel's eyes on her and she sniffed. "Just checkin' on my girl," she said quietly, running a hand along Bryallyn's curls. Nathaniel nodded, knowing of the special relationship that the woman had with the Cousland family in general, but Bryallyn in particular.

When she was at the door, Nan turned back for a moment and said, "Oi, and that mutt of hers is down in the stables when you lot are ready to take him back. Bothersome beast ... causing no end of trouble and getting into the larder again ..."

Nathaniel found himself staring after the woman long after the door had been closed. "Nan is unique," Bryallyn's voice whispered then, "but it's her way of telling us she loves us."

Nathaniel glanced down at her, relief in his eyes. "Are you feeling better now?" he asked as he turned to lean over her, searching her eyes intently for the truth of it.

Bryallyn nodded. "I'm sorry if I worried you," she told him softly. "I guess I sort of ... shut down."

Nathaniel nodded. "You could say that," he told her. Then he pulled her close for a hug. "We should probably go and see what has been discussed and what is still under consideration."

Rising, they found that their packs had been returned to them, as well as the items Nathaniel had not taken with him to the lodge. They dressed, both in armor, and donned their armor while eating off the tray that Nan had brought. Nathaniel watched his wife as she quickly braided her long curls and wound it up on the top of her head, securing it with a hairpin. Turning then, she asked, "Ready?" He nodded and they departed the room together, heading towards the great hall.

As they entered, they found an increased number of guards present on watch as well as Bryce, Fergus, Eleanor, Arl Howe, Devlyn Cashen and Ser Gilmore in addition to a newcomer. Bryce rose to his feet when he noticed Bryallyn and Nathaniel arriving. When the pair reached the table, Bryce explained, "Bryallyn, Nathaniel, this is Grey Warden Commander Duncan. He arrived yesterday with all intentions of evaluating Ser Gilmore. We have asked him to join us should he have any insights to the current situation."

Bryallyn turned towards the tall, dark haired man and greeted him. Nathaniel followed suit. Speaking to the Teyrn but keeping his eyes on both Bryallyn and Nathaniel, his deep voice rumbled, "I would respectfully submit that your daughter and her husband would be exceptional candidates as well, Teyrn Cousland."

The room quieted suddenly, and Bryce stepped forward, a concerned look upon his features. A loud gasp from Eleanor could be heard as Bryce said firmly, "I've not so many children that I'll gladly see them all off to battle, old friend. And my wife may have something to say in that regard as well."

Duncan chuckled easily, turning to face the Teyrn. "I value our friendship too highly to put you in such a position, my friend. I shall limit myself to the task at hand." With a slight bow, the man stepped back from Bryce and walked over to the table and seated himself.

Bryce turned towards Bryallyn and Nathaniel. With a partial smile, he told them, "You are just in time. We were about to sit down and discuss the situation."

Bryallyn smiled at her father before glancing up at Nathaniel who nodded. They crossed the room together, taking seats at the same table as the others. The discussion was intense: Nathaniel and Bryallyn both recounted the events they had experienced in minute detail from the order of attack to the styles of fighting and weapons used. Nathaniel pulled out the heraldic device he had torn from the shield and identified it, with agreement from Bryce, his father and Duncan as to its origins. Ser Gilmore ran through the security changes he had already put into place as well as the suggestions he and Dev had come up with since Rory's initial meeting with Nathaniel.

Bryallyn found her thoughts drifting off as the meeting progressed. She knew her father and Fergus and Howe were all planning to head towards Ostagar to meet up with King Cailan's forces. News of this gathering of forces had arrived at Highever in the days just prior to the wedding. Though it had brought a pall over the joyous gathering, Bryallyn had known it was something that could happen at any time. With the inevitable about to face them fully, she found her concerns drifting towards the safety of those she loved and cared for.  _Why would they attack us?_  she wondered.  _What possible threat could we be to them?_  She glanced up at her husband, watched him closely as he added to the conversation. She could think of no reason why they would be targets.  _We are newlyweds, no threat to anyone other than, perhaps, some unknown love interest?_  Sighing, she closed her eyes, her hand moving to pinch at the bridge of her nose to relieve the headache building there. Already, just after such a short time, it was becoming a doozy.

Eleanor glanced at her daughter, her heart racing at the thought of how close she had come to losing both her and Nathaniel. Bryallyn had held up well, though, and Eleanor could not have been prouder. Glancing at Bryce, she tilted her head towards their daughter, silently asking the question. Bryce's features softened a bit as he glanced at his fierce girl. Nodding, he agreed. Eleanor rose quietly, touching Bryallyn's arm and gesturing that she should follow her.

Bryallyn was surprised at her mother's actions, but followed in silence. She felt Nathaniel's gaze turn onto her back, his voice gaining a bit in volume as it spread towards her before he turned back to the discussion at hand. Meeting her mother in the center of the room, she asked, "What is it, Mother?"

"That is what I was going to ask you. Are you all right?"

Bryallyn's smile was sardonic at best. "Someone just tried to kill both myself and my husband. Should I be all right?" she asked. "I can't for the life of me figure out who or why anyone would want us dead."

Eleanor pulled her daughter close, leading her towards the doors. "Darling, let them worry about it. You are going to be taking over the keep while your father is gone and ..."

Bryallyn froze, something niggling at the back of her mind.  _Father, Fergus, Nathaniel and Howe all will be at Ostagar ... Mother and I will be here ..._  Bryallyn glanced over at her husband, now listening to her father speak. He chanced a glance over at her, a question in his eyes.  _But, why the Free Marches? Why would someone from there ..._

Eleanor watched her daughter as she frowned, obviously working something out in her head. "Darling, come and rest. You are going to need it if you are going to keep the castle running in your father's absence ..."

Bryallyn pulled from her mother's embrace and walked down the side of the room, still deep in thought.  _Highever ... Ostagar ... Free Marches. Everyone gone but a small contingent of forces, led by Ser Gilmore. The men gone, the women at home ..._  Bryallyn pounded her fist on the table.  _Something is not adding up!_

Concerned, Eleanor reached her daughter's side and told her firmly, "Come with me, Bry."

"No!" Bryallyn returned. Looking up at her mother, she said, fiercely, "Don't you see mother? This doesn't add up! They  _want_  us separated - they have to know we are sending forces to Ostagar, that father and Fergus, Arl Howe and Nathaniel will be there! It makes no sense for forces from the Free Marches to be involved unless it is a distraction to separate us all even further!" Bryallyn gasped suddenly. She could almost see it ... the connection ... but like a word stuck on the end of her tongue, she could not grasp it and pull it to the forefront of her brain.

Eleanor caught Bryallyn's arm before the younger woman began sagging against her. "Bry?" she murmured. "Are you all right?"

Sighing heavily, she nodded. "Headache," she muttered.

Eleanor led her daughter along the hall towards the living quarters and guest rooms. "You need a bit more rest. While you lie down I'll have Nan make that tea you like for your headache. All will be fine, my girl."

Bryallyn removed her armor upon entering her room and then crawled into bed. Her head was throbbing now, right behind her eyes.  _I need to figure this out!_  she thought just before slipping into oblivion.

Later that evening, having been warned by his mother-in-law, Nathaniel entered the room quietly to find Bryallyn still deeply asleep. He sighed, knowing that they needed to talk, to discuss what had been decided at the meeting, but he did not want to wake her if her sleep was a healing one. He undressed quickly, changed into his night clothes and slipped beneath the covers. As he carefully pulled her close, he heard her mumble something, though he could not tell what it was. With a smile, he wondered if she would remember to tell him in the morning.


	23. Separation

Bryallyn stood just inside the doorway between her room and the hall watching as Nathaniel packed his bag in short measured strokes; folding clothes, packing essentials, organizing the arrangement inside so that additional items, including some of her father's best maps of the Free Marches, could fit.  _Barely a week married and we are being pulled apart by Maker knows what. This shouldn't be happening …._  "We should go together," she murmured as he continued his actions but without comment..

"This is not open for debate, Bry."

She sighed inwardly.  _I've married a stubborn, stubborn man it seems!_ "We don't yet know who the real threat is against -" she tried protesting yet again.

But, unlike previous attempts at discussing this topic, Nathaniel spun around, a fire in his eyes and anger rolling off him in waves. "No, Bry," he told her fiercely, harshly. "I will not change my mind on this. Your father needs you here at the moment, anyway while he and Fergus are gone. It's that simple: you will remain here, I will go to the Free Marches - alone."

Bryallyn was non-plussed at his display of pique. Instead, she was prepared to force the issue if necessary. "Nathaniel, -"

But Nathaniel was not about to let her. Stalking over, he took her arms in his hands, his fingers tightening enough so that his grasp was firm, and he shook her lightly. "Bry, I can't do what needs to be done if you are there with me!" he told her sharply. "I need to be able to focus. If you are with me, I will worry more about your safety than what I need to do. Dev and I will go; you will remain here. End of story."

Bryallyn nodded, turning her head away from him. Taking deep breaths, she tried to calm herself. Of course, he was right. She knew that. But she hated being left behind when she had talents that would serve better elsewhere.  _And it's just not fair!_  she cried silently.

Nathaniel released her after a moment, quite suddenly, and took a step backwards from her. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her lift her head towards him, but his focus was soley upon his hands for a moment, a memory from his childhood flooding back to him.

" _Why must you insist upon interfering?" Rendon demanded harshly as he stalked towards her._

" _I am interfering?" she returned, stepping in front of her oldest son. "I should think I was assisting, not interfering, when it was clear that you were about to -"_

_Angered beyond limits, Rendon took her by her upper arms and shook her while Nathaniel backed slowly away. The motion was sharp, violent, and strong enough to shake the pile of dark curls she wore pinned atop her head loose. Nathaniel's young eyes were locked on the falling curls as his ears heard her cry ... and he felt strong, safe, secure hands lead him out of the room ..._

Bryallyn frowned, searching his face. "Nathaniel?" She reached out, touching his arm. "Nathaniel!" she called again, this time a bit louder.

He finally lifted his gaze from his hands to her face. "Bry, I -" he gasped, allowing her to see his fear without any walls between them.

Concerned, Bry stepped closer to him. Lifting a hand to his cheek, she touched him, held him, called to him. "What is it, love? What's wrong?"

Nathaniel managed to sit on the edge of the bed before falling over. Bryallyn followed him until she stood between his legs, directly in front of him. Glancing up again, he saw nothing but concern on her features. There was no fear, no terror, no revulsion. Taking a deep breath, he allowed the feelings that had suddenly stormed through him to dissipate. "I - Just for a moment," he finally managed, "I ... thought I was turning into my father."  _There, I've said it. It's up to her to make the choice now …._

Bryallyn looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

He told her about the memory, about how when he'd been twelve he'd watched his father shake his mother so horribly. He described the anger and hate and pure violence that he had seen in his father that day ... "When I did the same to you, I -"

"No!" she told him immediately. "You did not do the same to me!" She stood before him, lifting his face to meet hers. Smiling softly, she reminded him gently, "You stopped yourself in time, Nathaniel ... you are not like him!" Then with an impish grin, simply to get him thinking in another direction, she added, "Do you honestly think I would allow you do that to me when I know I have it within my power to stop you?"

Nathaniel blinked first and then frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

She stepped forward, between his legs, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Lifting her hands to run through the hair at the back of his neck, massaging gently until she felt the muscles there relax, she told him, "Do you not recall that first training session we had together? In Denerim? At the palace?"

He nodded, comprehension dawning at last as the final vestiges of his living nightmare faded from his mind. With a half laugh, he pulled her close so that he could rest his head upon her shoulder as he told her, "We shall have to test your skills again upon my return."

Her smile audible in her voice, Bryallyn replied, "I accept your challenge, my lord!"

A moment later, she turned to sit upon his lap, his arms still around her. "Nathaniel," she murmured, "stay safe … please."

"I intend to," he replied.

Sighing, she lowered her head to his shoulder this time. "This entire situation sounds very contrived … there is something we are all missing, I know this, yet I cannot figure out just what it is!"

Nathaniel tightened his hold. They had spent time that morning discussing the partial theory that Bryallyn had come up with and though Nathaniel agreed with her, neither had been able to come up with any idea of what could be the missing link. "I will stay safe," he promised, pressing a kiss to her head, "and I will be back before you know it. Perhaps even before our fathers return from Ostagar."

"I will keep him safe for you, Bry."

Bryallyn lifted her head from her husband's shoulder to glance over at Devlyn, now standing in the doorway. Giving the man a smile, she nodded. "Thank you, Dev."

"Are you ready Nate? The ship leaves in a couple of hours. Your father managed to get us both passage on  _La Gaviota (The Seagull)_."

Bryallyn blinked at the name and glanced up at her husband. "You're joking, right?" she inquired.

Dev's chuckle reverberated through the room. "Unfortunately, no," he returned.

Sighing heavily, Bryallyn rose to her feet and watched her husband do the same. As Nathaniel shouldered his bag, Bryallyn crossed to Devlyn's side and gave the man a hug. "I trust you will both return safely?" she told him.

Lifting her hand to his lips, he gave her one of his most charming smiles and replied, "You may count upon it, my lady."

They departed the room and began walking down to the great hall where they found the Teyrn and Teyrna, Fergus, Oriana, Rory Gilmore, Rendon Howe and Duncan all waiting. Bryallyn stepped aside as her family said goodbye, knowing that their love and concern for her husband was as genuine as if he was a Cousland. And, though she detected a hint of red at Nathaniel's neck when both Eleanor and Oriana kissed his cheek, Bryallyn could not hold back a soft smile of approval as her husband withstood his discomfort and moved on to speak with the others. Finally, as Nathaniel spoke to Bryce last, Bryallyn stepped forward and moved to her husband's side.

"Stay safe, my boy," the Teyrn was saying. "Are you sure you won't take additional men with you?"

"No, your Grace," Nathaniel replied firmly. "I will accept the four I've already agreed upon, but if I take more, we look more like a group looking for battle rather than a scouting expedition."

Bryallyn noticed the Grey Warden Duncan beside her father was nodding in agreement with Nathaniel's assessment, and it helped ease her mind a bit. She saw his dark eyes shift to her suddenly, an almost impish glint to them as if he'd caught her looking at him. She blushed slightly, but saw that he simply smiled at her, nodding a bit as if agreeing with her as well.  _I shall have to speak with him later,_  she thought.

Reaching his arm out, Bryce clasped his new son's in a warrior's grasp and nodded. "Good luck to you then, Nathaniel. May the Maker watch you on your journey."

Nathaniel held his father-in-law's gaze for a long moment as he returned, "May He watch over us all, your Grace."

Bryallyn crossed the room with him then, stepping into a secluded corner with him for one last goodbye. As she turned her lips up into a smile, she lifted her left hand to caress his cheek. "I won't go with you to the docks," she told him, feeling the fragile grip she had on her emotions wobble slightly. "I will simply tell you I love you, I trust you implicitly, and I will look forward to your safe return." She looked up into his dark, stormy gaze just as he lowered his head, swooping in to catch her lips in a thorough kiss.

His own hand lifting to her cheek, he told her fiercely, "I will be back … do not doubt this!"

Bryallyn felt the tears begin trickling down her face then. Taking a deep breath, she shook her head and whispered, "I won't … ever!" before stepping back.

Dev neared them then, four Highever soldiers behind him, and he nodded at Bryallyn. "Be safe and well, my lady."

"And you as well," she returned, her gaze including all five men. Moments later, they had departed through the front gates and were on their way down to the docks. Bryallyn half thought of dashing up to the battlements to watch their progress, but decided against it. And in the next moment, she felt another presence at her side.

"It seems as if Father would have me leave with some of our men to Ostagar this evening," Fergus murmured as he joined her. "I trust you will take care of my wife and son as well as Mother while we are gone?"

Bryallyn pulled a deep breath. "I shall do the best I am able," she replied automatically. Glancing up at him, she asked, "When will Father leave?"

"He and Howe will wait for the Amaranthine men to arrive … anytime now, so I hear." Fergus gave his sister a searching look. "He'll be all right, Bry," he reassured her. "And I will tell you this as well: I do not  _ever_  want to be on opposing sides with your husband. I've seen and heard what he is capable of. He is quite formidable."

Bryallyn smiled. "He has his moments," she agreed softly. Then opening her arms, she gave her brother a hug. "Stay safe, Fergus. Maker watch over you."

Fergus chuckled softly. "I suspect, given Oren's new phase of inquisitiveness, that  _he_  shall be needing to watch over you while I am gone, sister dear!" He heard her laugh then and knew that she would rebound quickly from her current emotional state. "We will be back before you know it … comparing war stories, beautiful serving wenches serving our ale and -"

"What's a 'wench,' Father?" Oren's little voice piped up then, causing the Cousland siblings to break into amused laughter. Bryallyn gave her brother a pointed look while Fergus began explaining the meaning of the word to his son.

Moments later, Oriana, Eleanor and Bryce joined them. After saying goodbye to her brother once more, Bryallyn begged her leave and retreated to her room seeking refuge in the quiet and empty space. She found Constant sitting nearby, someone obviously having released him from Nan's 'imprisonment' in the stables, and the hound quickly rose to his feet as she entered the room. Patting his head absently, she told him, "Well, boy, it seems as if we will be alone for just a bit longer. Do you think we can handle that?"

Constant yipped his acknowledgement as he followed his mistress to the bedside. He settled down nearby, watching her prepare for the evening, and once satisfied she was well taken care of, he drifted off to sleep.


	24. Preparations

Rendon Howe departed Teyrn Cousland's study late that evening and retreated to his rooms in the living quarters. After the good-byes in the great hall he, Bryce and Warden Commander Duncan had shared a fairly simple meal and then retreated to the study for drinks and discussion. It was during this transition from the dining area to the study that he'd been approached by one of his men, his captain Garrick Lowan, who had just arrived ahead of his men. The captain had handed him a message, but unable to read it at that moment, Howe had sent the captain back to lead the troops into Highever. He now pulled it from his pocket as he entered his room, and wandered over towards the window where the light of the full moon loomed in to provide him scant lighting so that he could read the missive.

_My lord Howe,_

_Some of the men are not pleased with your plan. They will incite others against you. For the plan to succeed, our forces must be united. If word gets out, if even one of them informs Cousland, it will be your head on a plate. I say this with all due respect, ser._

_Your captain,_

_Lowan_

Rendon frowned.  _Damnable bastards, the lot of them!_  he growled softly to himself.  _They think to betray me at this late date?_  He crumpled the parchment before tossing it into the fire blazing away in the hearth.  _They think they can get away with it?_

Lowan's arrival ahead of the rest of his men had sparked a cheerful enthusiasm among the Highever men waiting to depart with their Teyrn the next morning. However, with the man's spoken message to Arl Howe in front of the Teyrn Cousland and the Warden Commander they had come to realize that their excitement had been premature: the Amaranthine troops were yet about a day behind him.

 _If only they knew …._  Returning to the window, Rendon pulled the curtain back and peered out and up towards the battlements at the Highever watch on duty.  _No sense of urgency … no alarm, despite what happened the previous day to Nathaniel and the Cousland chit. This plan_ _will_ _work, those bloody fools be damned!_   _Highever is completely unprepared for this …._

There was a knock at his door then, and Rendon turned. He'd been expecting the interruption, and opened to find Captain Lowan standing before him once more … this time, his armor indicative of a man of much lower rank.  _An interesting disguise to be sure_  … Rendon gestured the man inside before closing the barrier behind him. "The men are in place?" he queried softly.

"Yes, my lord. They will attack upon the signal."

"Good," he continued, turning to walk back over by the window. "Very good."

"Sir, about the message earlier …."

Rendon turned his head slowly to evaluate the man before him. "I appreciate your concern, Captain," he told him, "but the fact that you and the men are in place now should go a long way to reassuring the others that this plan will indeed work. The pieces are in place … the attack goes forward."

Captain Lowan stood straighter, his feet coming together, nodding salute. "The assignments have not changed?"

Rendon shook his head. "No, they remain the same." He pointed across the room to the armoire. "The clothing you need is in there. I will depart with you, leaving the keep in the confusion. When you have secured the castle, bring those who yet live to me in Amaranthine unless you hear otherwise."

Lowan crossed to the armoire and opened it, pulling out one of the Arl's typical daily outfits. Changing quickly, he passed his splitmail armor to his lord and he donned the man's appearance. Though up close it would be quite easy to determine that the man was  _not_  Rendon Howe, from a distance, and to staff and soldiers who did not know the Arl well, it would be a relatively easy disguise to take advantage of.

A short time later, the chantry bell from the town began tolling the first hour of the new day. "I am ready, my lord," Lowan announced as the last chime continued to echo.

"Good." Rendon placed the helm on his head, satisfied that he would not be recognized. He took the man's sword and shield, leaving the captain his dagger with which he would attack and kill Bryce Cousland. "Would that I could do the deed myself," he murmured as he nodded his approval at his captain, "but it cannot be risked."

"Gervis and Tynan are just outside the city gates, my lord," Lowan told him. "They have a mount waiting for you there."

Rendon nodded absently as he made final adjustments to his armor. "Let's go," he murmured at last satisfied. Without further ado, they exited the rooms. When they reached the main part of the keep, Rendon turned to exit the castle proper while Lowan headed towards the study where Bryce and Duncan had remained after their meeting with Rendon. Exiting through the gates without incident, Rendon marched down the path a short distance until he came upon Amaranthine men. He recognized Stevens and nodded. "It is time," he told him. The man nodded in return and began leading his men up towards the courtyard as Rendon continued his way through town.

Some minutes later, he exited through the city gates and followed the path to where Lowan had told him he would meet Gervis and Tynan. The men recognized him after the helm was removed and soon all three were riding eastward at a rapid pace. With one final look over his shoulder, Rendon imagined he could hear the screams and cries of mercy, the smell of fire and battle as his men took over what Rendon knew to be rightfully his.  _Goodbye, old friend,_  he thought as he chuckled at the thought of Bryce's death.  _Such a pity that we could not be family for long …._


	25. Betrayal

The ship departing Highever for the Free Marches set sail with the tide while Nathaniel and Devlyn watched from the deck as the town retreated from their line of sight. Nathaniel was leaning against the rail, staring at Castle Cousland as they made the journey out to sea, wondering if he had made the right decision.  _You had to go,_  he told himself.  _The watches are increased, Father's men are assisting, the state of alert is at its highest._

Devlyn stood beside Nathaniel, a little further down the rail, but said nothing. Nathaniel suspected his friend was thinking after Delilah who, though safely away from Highever now, could still be in danger too. Time seemed to stand still for a while as the ship moved, but the sky still dimmed towards night and the shoreline completely faded from view, until finally both young men turned and headed towards their cabins. They had decisions to make, plans to detail, men to brief.

Nathaniel was inside his cabin searching through his pack for the maps and the scrap of cloth from the shield of the men who had attacked him and Bryallyn at the lodge when he heard the door opening softly behind him. As he had been expecting his second and the Highever men to arrive momentarily so that they could discuss their plans for their arrival at Kirkwall in more detail, he did not think much of the newcomer's appearance until he heard the echo of a soft voice crying out in alarm,  _Nathaniel, watch out! Behind you!_

Later, Nathaniel would not be able to explain why he had listened to the voice inside his head that had cried out with such insistence and sounded very much like his wife, but he had, he did, ... and it saved his life. From the second he heard the urgency in the cry, Nathaniel had shifted to his left, spinning as he did so while pulling a dagger from his waist. The move and the draw were timed almost perfectly, and he managed to deflect the blade aimed at his heart just enough to have it plunge into his upper left arm nearer his shoulder rather than his chest.

The ensuing fight was short-lived despite the injury to his arm once Nathaniel was able to move into a defensive stance. For, though his proficiency and preference was with his bow, he was an expert using daggers as well. When finally he had battled his opponent to the ground, disarming him and pinning him to the floor, Nathaniel leaned forward and ripped the hood away from the man ... to find his second lying there, grimacing in pain, broken pride, and loathing. "You know I am not fond of betrayal," Nathaniel hissed acidly, masking his surprise and disappointment, "so you had better have a good reason for this Devlyn Cashen."

Devlyn, a man who had been beside the elder of the Howe children as his second since their years in the Free Marches together, who had traveled and trained with him, who had stood up for him at his wedding, now glared angrily at Nathaniel, as if a child who had not gotten his way. "I do," he admitted slowly, "though you will not agree with it."

Nathaniel frowned. "Speak, Dev. My patience wore thin the moment you attacked." His frown deepened suddenly as he remembered. "Wait ... does this have something to do with the attack at the hunting lodge?"

Devlyn turned his head away. "Let me up and I will tell you," he grumbled hoarsely.

"I am not a fool." Nathaniel shook the man who had been his friend for many years, allowing his head to knock against the floor without mercy. "Tell me!" Nathaniel demanded.

"Your father!" Devlyn spit out finally. "Your father paid me a huge sum of money and promised your sister to me in marriage if I would ... eliminate you." The blond man glared at Nathaniel. "I have … debts … I need paid," he hissed, "or I am dead. You know how it is ..."

Nathaniel snorted angrily. "I know my limits, you apparently do not, so no my friend, I do not know how it is. These debts … they are owned by my father, no doubt."

Devlyn scowled, anger that his plans were falling apart now getting the better of him. "Amongst others, yes. Your father told me that if I did this for him he would erase my debts with all parties … promised me Delilah in marriage! If I did not, he assured me in no uncertain terms that the Crows would find me."

Nathaniel felt a chill rush through him, the hairs on the back of his neck and arms lifting. He had known his father to be ruthless, but … this? "That explains  _your_  reason. What reason would my father have for wanting  _me_  dead?" he demanded, though the idea did not surprise him all that much.

"Because you have aligned yourself with traitors, man!" his second spat out. "The Couslands have sold out to the Orlesians -"

Nathaniel could not refrain from belting the man across the jaw at that. "Maker's breath, Dev!" he growled. "What idiocy has my father been feeding you to get you to do his bidding? The Couslands have no such alliance, and the Orlesians certainly have no such influence upon them!"

"Take that up with your father then, for I have nothing else I can tell you."

Nathaniel rose to his feet, pulling the man up beside him. "Who else is involved?" he demanded. "Anyone else on board? Any other attacks I should be made aware of?" Nathaniel's head turned as he heard the door to his room open. He spotted the Highever men entering, confusion on their faces as they found Nathaniel pinning Devlyn down. He gestured them inside and to close the door. "He attacked me," Nathaniel explained bluntly, gesturing to the blood now dripping down his arm at a steady pace, soaking the material there. One of the Highever men stepped forward immediately, taking over the grip on Devlyn. With a nod of thanks, Nathaniel stepped back, reaching for his pack with the first aid kit.

"My lord," one of the other men queried as he stepped forward to assist Nathaniel, "to what purpose? Why would he -"

"Apparently my father put him up to it." Nathaniel glared at Devlyn again, his eyes narrowing. "You didn't answer my question, Dev. Am I to expect any more attacks? On board? In the Free Marches?"

Devlyn shook his head. "No, I was the only one here. No one in the Marches that I am aware of. Back at Highever, however ..."

Nathaniel felt his chest tighten at the casual attitude of the man's words and he reacted upon instinct, returning to Devlyn's side and shoving him against the wall, bracing his forearm against the man's throat, uncaring if he injured him or not. "What about Highever?" he demanded harshly. He was oblivious to the Highever men trying to pull him off.

"Nate, it's too late," Devlyn gasped. "You ... you can't do anything to save them."

"WHAT?" Nathaniel felt ice building in his veins at the thought of his wife and her family unknowingly about to become targets. He jerked his arm up, connecting beneath Devlyn's chin and cracking the man's skull against the wall. "Tell me!" The men who had been trying to pull Nathaniel off of Devlyn had ceased their efforts as the import of the traitor's claims became clear. They too had interests at Highever.

Devlyn lowered his eyes as he muttered, "Your father's men ... they are to attack the castle, destroy the Teyrn and his family ... kill them ...  _all of them_." Lifting his head again he added with a cold look at his one-time friend, "Your father is after it all, Nate. He wants what he says is rightfully his. And he has support ... from above ..."

One of the Highever men, Trinion Nathaniel saw, took a menacing step forward. Holding him back with his good arm, Nathaniel demanded, "Why me?" He felt his entire world turning upside down, out of control, out of his hands.  _Why, Father? Why would you do this?_  "Why would my father want me dead?"  _I know you have no real love for me, but I am your blood …_

"Because you married the Cousland chit."

This time, Nathaniel's elbow connected with Devlyn's jaw and as he stepped back, he saw the man fall to the floor unconscious. Stepping back and away, Nathaniel began to feel reaction settling in: shock, anger, … despair. Groaning at the information he had just been subjected to, Nathaniel felt himself stumble over towards the bed where he could sink to the mattress, lowering his head to his hands.  _Bryallyn!_  he screamed inside his head.  _Oh, Maker protect her as I cannot!_  He did not notice the three men who removed Devlyn's body, nor the one who remained behind to bandage up Nathaniel's arm.  _Bryallyn!_

 

* * *

 

Bryallyn was snapped awake from sleep at the sound of her husband's agonized cry. Sitting up, her eyes darting frantically around the room, she searched for him. "Nathaniel?" she whispered. _Oh Maker, please keep him safe!_ Sliding out of bed, she reached for her robe first, when she heard Constant suddenly begin growling fiercely near the doorway. Turning, she called softly, "Constant, hush!"

The mabari's growl became deeper, fiercer, and Bryallyn realized something was very wrong. Dropping the robe, she grabbed her armor and pulled it on quickly. There had been something in the dream … in Nathaniel's voice as he cried out to her … and she took that, combined with Constant's reaction, as warning. She was just reaching for her bow when the door burst open and a servant came stumbling in ... blood streaming down his back as a bolt ran through his chest. Before she could say a word, Constant was out the door and viciously attacking the enemy. Bryallyn nocked an arrow before rounding the edge of the door, her arm raised, the bowstring taut.

Once the men were down, Bryallyn scanned her surroundings. The doors were all closed, only five men were inside … all now dead either by her bow or by Constant. "Good boy," she murmured as she knelt beside the mabari to turn over one of the bodies. When the soldier was face up again, his shield beside him, Bryallyn gasped in confused recognition. "Amaranthine?" Bryallyn rose to her feet and hurried towards her mother's door. "Mother?" she called, pounding at the barricade. "Mother, are you all right? Is Father in there with you?"

The door was yanked open with such force that Bryallyn briefly thought that perhaps a whole contingent of men were inside, but she found only Eleanor Cousland standing there, dressed in her armor and armed with her bow. "Darling! I heard fighting outside and I feared the worst! Are you hurt at all?"

Bryallyn shook her head, hugging her mother briefly in relief of her safety. "No, Mother, I'm fine." She stepped quickly inside her mother's room, searching for her father. "What's going on?"

"I was woken by a scream," Eleanor explained as she led her daughter towards a chest and opened it, handing some of the contents to Bryallyn while she spoke. "There were men in the hall, so I barred the door."

Bryallyn was putting the items into her waist pouches when she heard her mother say, "Did you see their shields? Those are Howe's men! Why would they be attacking us?"

Bryallyn felt as if the blood rushed out of her at that moment in time.  _The attack at the lodge … the separation of Nathaniel, Fergus and Father … the attack upon Nathaniel …_  "He - he's betrayed Father! He attacks while our troops are gone!" she cried, reaching out to grasp her mother's arm. "He … he's had them attack us here, probably has some going after Fergus … Mother, I was woken by a vision of Nathaniel under attack as well!"

Eleanor rose and squeezed her daughter's arm. "Now darling, you don't know that for a fact. Do not borrow trouble .. we have enough as it is!" She led Bryallyn back out into the hallway. "You … you don't think that his troops were delayed … on purpose?" She saw Bryallyn nod. "That bastard! I'll cut his throat myself!" Eleanor gestured towards the door leading out of the living quarters. "We need to find your father. He never came to bed."

"Oh Maker!" Bryallyn breathed, stopping suddenly as they neared Fergus' door. "Mother, we need to check on Oriana and Oren!" The two women rushed to the door, Constant pushing his way before them, and the three found the door was not completely shut. It opened at the mabari's nudging, and the full impact of the sight, even in the dimness, was not lost upon Bryallyn. She heard her mother gasp, heard Constant's immediate whine of concern to find Oren lying so still and quiet on the floor. Turning, Bryallyn began guiding her mother towards the doorway. "Mother, no, don't look at this!" she said briskly. She felt Eleanor fighting her, and Bryallyn signalled Constant to assist. "Mother, go! We can do nothing for them now," Bryallyn reminded her, "but we  _can_  warn Father!"

"Andraste's Mercy!" Eleanor breathed roughly as they exited the room.

Bryallyn closed the door behind her, protecting their bodies from what she did not know. Pausing a moment as she latched the barrier, Bryallyn sent a prayer to the Maker for their journey to the Fade. Turning then, she armed herself with her bow and glanced at her mother, a newfound and harder resolution settling over her. "Are you ready, Mother? I suspect there may be men waiting on the other side of the door."

Eleanor nodded and both women's attentions were caught as Constant began growling deep in his throat. Bryallyn gave him a signal, and the hound went silent. With one final word to her mother, Bryallyn said, "Mother, I need your focus here! We can do nothing for Oriana and Oren now, but we can avenge them!" Eleanor nodded once more. "I am with you, my darling," she finally managed.

Bryallyn cracked the door the tiniest bit at first, placing her ear to the portal to see if she could hear anyone beyond. What she got instead confirmed her greatest fears.

"Is it done?"

"Yeah, the Antivan bitch and her kid are gone. We've done our part … what about the rest?"

"We have to kill the Arl's daughter-in-law … The Teyrna is to be brought to the Arl himself … alive. He's got plans for her I guess."

Bryallyn waved her mother over to listen as well. The two women exchanged a glance at this comment and Bryallyn noted the anger transforming her mother's features.  _Good, anger will help her focus ..._.

"And what about the Arl's whelp?"

"Oi! The one that married the Cousland girl?"

"Aye … if he survives …."

"Nah, it's all planned. 'E won't make it to Kirkwall alive. The Arl … 'e's got it all planned out ya see …."

It took all of her force of will to not cry out at this. It was one thing to dream that her husband was under attack, but to have reinforcement in words … and by men who served her husband's father no less …. Bryallyn looked up at her mother, searching for some sort of comfort. She saw that Eleanor was concerned, felt her mother's hand as she squeezed Bryallyn's shoulder gently. "As you told me, my darling," Eleanor whispered in Bryallyn's ear, "we must focus. We'll tell your Father when we find him. We'll find some way to make sure Nathaniel stays safe!"

Bryallyn pulled the door open slowly then, she and her mother remaining behind the panel, Constant waiting to the right side until the opening was clear. Peeking around the edge, Bryallyn noted the first movements by soldiers on the other side and signalled Constant to attack. "Now!" she hissed at her mother.

The two archers moved quickly, taking out those soldiers that the mabari did not as they moved across the next section of the living quarters. When they finally reached the door on the far side, Bryallyn glanced down at Constant, seeking his opinion, and when he did not signal that there was immediate danger, she opened the door. Leading her mother down the hall and through the atrium, she paused as a figure ran around the corner, crying out in alarm and concern. "Stand!" Bryallyn ordered him when she realized he was one of the servants from the castle. "We are Couslands! We stand and defend what is ours!"

"Y-yes, m'lady!"

"Hurry, darling," Eleanor was telling Bryallyn as they made their way through the keep. "The treasury! We must reach the Cousland blade! It cannot be allowed to fall into Howe's hands. It should be used to sever that snake's head!"

Bryallyn took a sudden right, leading down towards the treasury. "Do you have the key Mother?" she asked. When Eleanor handed it to her, she made quick work of the lock and the one on the inside to the vault. Grabbing the Cousland blade as well as her father's shield, Bryallyn also retrieved a couple of daggers and placed one at her waist and one inside her boot. Turning, the returned to her mother's side. "Right," she told her. "Let's go find Father."

They continued a circuitous route through the keep as some passages were blocked by debris and fire. What normally would take them only a few short minutes seemed to now take forever. Finally, they entered the main hall to find several Howe soldiers fighting against Highever men. Bryallyn and her mother again used their longer range attacks to lend assistance, this time concentrating on the mage near the doorway, and leaving the other soldiers to the Highever men and Constant.

When the battle was over, Bryallyn stepped forward to find Rory Gilmore issuing orders to hold the doors closed to the Highever men. "Rory!" Bryallyn gasped as she reached his side. "Thank the Maker you are safe!"

"Praise the Maker you two are unharmed!" Rory told her in obvious relief when he saw the women approach. "When I reailzed what was happening it was all I could to shut the gates." He glanced over towards the door where several Highever men had braced themselves in an effort to keep the barricade shut from the pounding on the other side. He signaled for more men to assist. "But they won't keep Howe's men out for long I'm afraid." He searched both women's faces then. Glancing down at Bryallyn, he told her, "Your Father and the Grey Warden were trying to make it to you -"

"Howe's men reached us first," Eleanor interjected at that point. "Oriana and Oren were killed … butchered."

Bryallyn turned her attention towards her friend. "Rory, where is my father now? We need to find him." The look of dread upon his face caused Bryallyn's stomach to lurch.  _Oh no!_

"My lady, when last I saw him I'm afraid he was gravely injured. I urged him not to go back into the keep, but he was determined to find you …. He said he would head towards the kitchen … wait for you there. Go … we shall hold the doors so that you can escape."

"Rory, come with us!" Bryallyn told him. "We will need your help -"

"No," the auburn haired giant told her quietly, "I shall remain here and do my duty as I have always done." His eyes caught hers and held them for a long moment. "Please go while you have the chance," he told her. "Get away safely so that you may seek vengeance upon those who deserve it. I will do my duty to give you the time necessary."

Bryallyn sighed heavily, felt her heart ache with the knowledge that yet another fine member of her family would inevitably be taken from her, but she nodded. She knew this man well. Rory's dedication to duty and to the Cousland family was well known among those in Highever's keep. Reaching out quickly to give him a warrior's clasp wrist to wrist, she told him, "Thank you, my dear friend, for all your service. It will always be remembered." Then without further words, she turned and began leading her mother away. With a whistle, Constant was at her side.

Closing the door to the hall behind her, Bryallyn motioned Constant forward. "Be on watch, boy!" she whispered. Her mother she kept behind her.

"The kitchen," Eleanor whispered. "The servant's exit there. Your Father will be waiting!"

Bryallyn nodded as she lead the way.

They did not run into any further resistance until they turned down the hallway off which the kitchen branched. There, another group of Howe's men awaited them. This group, however, seemed armed and armored better than most. However, as they had done all along (was this a testament to their style of training, or simply a fluke?), Bryallyn and her mother remained back while Constant closed in on the intruders. It was a hard fought battle, one that took more out of them than Bryallyn wished, but in the end she, her mother and Constant were still standing. Only once she was certain their opponents no longer posed a threat did Bryallyn reach for the door handle.

Inside the kitchen, the fire in the hearth gave out just enough light for her to see two bodies lying on the floor. "Nan!" she gasped, rushing to the older woman's side. Constant approached then and he, too, emitted a whine of despair. Behind her, Bryallyn heard her mother move forward. Eleanor knelt beside the fallen women, reached out to place Nan's hands upon her chest and whispered, "Maker guide you safely, my friend!"

Rising once more, Bryallyn took a step towards the door to the larder. Inside, there was a secret servant's exit, only some of the servants inside the keep were even aware of its existence. Throwing the door open, her bow lifted and armed, Bryallyn entered the room ….

"Bry! Ellie!"

Eleanor hurried forward into the darkened room at the sound of her husband's voice, kneeling beside him, while Bryallyn closed the door behind them. She signalled Constant to remain near the door, listening for intruders. Turning back towards her father then, Bryallyn heard her mother saying, "Bryce! You're bleeding!"

"Howe's men … found me first. Almost … did me in right there …."

Bryallyn knelt beside her father as well. She glanced first at the injury in his side, unwilling to acknowledge what she was seeing, and then into his eyes … and was faced with a truth she did not want to accept. "Father, you must stand so we can get you out of here," she told him.

"She's right, Bryce," Eleanor added, an almost desperate quality to her voice. "We'll escape through the servant's exit and find you healing magic."

His eyes still holding his daughter's, Bryce patted Bryallyn's hand and shook his head. "I cannot," he managed. "I will not survive the standing. You and your mother must escape … tell Fergus …"

"Father -"

Bryce squeezed his daughter's hand firmly. "Find … Nathaniel!" he told her. "He … he's as much … a victim in this as we are …."

Bryallyn could not control a shudder that ran through her. "We … we overheard Howe's men talking," she told him. "They plan to attack Nathaniel aboard ship!"

Eleanor, still attempting to tend to her husband's wounds, nodded her agreement with Bryallyn's assessment. "We must get you to safety, Bryce! If we are to retake Highever from Howe and his men, we will need you leading the way."

They were interrupted then by a soft whine of recognition from Constant and the opening of the door as Warden Commander Duncan entered the larder to join them. The two men shared a long look before Bryce said, "Duncan, my friend, I find I must beg a favor …." Duncan nodded in understanding. "Take my daughter and my wife … get them to safety …."

"No, Bryce!" Eleanor protested. "I will not leave you." Glancing up at Duncan, she told him, "Take Bryallyn to safety, please. Warnings must be given to Fergus … and to Nathaniel. They are victims in this evil plan as well …."

"Mother, no!" Bryallyn cried. "You and Father -"

"Bry," Bryce whispered hoarsely, lifting a hand to her face, "you know I will not … survive. Your mother and I have had a good life, have lived to see both our children grow … take families of their own."

Eleanor reached out to touch Bryallyn's arm. "Your Father is right, darling. I will stay here, buy you and Duncan time to get out." Eleanor lifted her hand to her daughter's cheek. "Go, darling girl. Now. Survive!"

Bryallyn did not try to hide the tears streaming down her face. Instead, she leaned forward to kiss Bryce's cheek, then her mother's. "My fierce … girl," Bryce whispered to her, "be strong! Remember … no matter your married name, you …are a Cousland ..."

Bryallyn sniffed through her personal pain. "And we Couslands always do our duty," she whispered back before rising to her feet. Turning away from her parents, knowing their inevitable fate, was the hardest thing Bryallyn ever had to do. She had to catch herself at one point from turning back, falling to her knees and begging them to escape with her. Instead, swallowing past her agony she signalled Constant to move on ahead. Somehow Bryallyn managed to tell Duncan in a hoarse voice, "This way," before she began the steps that took her on the longest walk she had ever had to make in her twenty-two years.

* * *

Nathaniel awoke with a start, his heart pounding as the memories of his dream began to fade. Glancing around him, he noticed one of the Highever men …  _Trinion_ , he recalled, sitting nearby. "Ah, my lord," the man said giving Nathaniel a grim smile. "Are you feeling better now?"

Nathaniel frowned. When Trinion pointed at his arm, Nathaniel realized that the man had finished bandaging it, most likely while he was sleeping.  _But when did I fall asleep?_  Frowning, Nathaniel struggled into a seated position on the bed. "What happened? How long was I asleep? Where's Dev?" he demanded.

"The traitor," Trinion announced, his voice dripping with venom, "has been dealt with. You have no fears there, my lord. You've been asleep the better part of a day. Grayson," Nathaniel recognized the name as belonging to one of the other men, "detected that a poison had been used on the traitor's blade. You were fortunate that he did not apply it correctly."

Nathaniel's eyes narrowed.  _Dev used poison? Why? Why would he even do this?_  And then Trinion's words seemed to take purchase.  _The better part of a day!_  Groaning, Nathaniel struggled to reach for his clothing, but Trinion pushed him back. "No, my lord," the man instructed. "You must rest. We will be arriving in Kirkwall soon and you will need your strength." He reached over at the small table and handed Nathaniel a small writing desk, some parchment and a quill. "We are aware of what the traitor told you, my lord. Write a message - the captain said he will be turning around shortly to head back to Highever. He will see that the warning is delivered to the keep."

Nathaniel could only stare at the parchment.  _But it's already too late …._  Then, reaching for the quill, he began to write. Perhaps, if nothing else, it would ease the minds of the Highever men, prove to them that he knew what should be done and was fit for command though in reality he felt as if his life and his future had been ripped from him. As he wrote, he noticed Trinion standing to leave. "Trinion," he called, his voice harsh with anger and pain, a dark mask falling into place over his face as the taste and feel of betrayal settled upon him, "gather the others and bring them here. We have some planning to do. We must build an army to go and take back Highever and return the Couslands to their rightful places."  _If there are any Couslands left …._

"Aye, my lord," Trinion replied, a feral smile moving into place.

_Dearest Bry,_

_It is with great fear and trepidation I write this, for I believe I am too late. We all should have listened more to your concerns, my wife. There was a traitor, one who should have been seen but who masked his efforts so well that even those closest to him did not notice, and for that you will forever have my profoundest apologies._

_I have been informed that we all were targets - me, you, your parents, even Fergus and his family. If this arrives to you in time, if you have enough advance warning, prepare my love! He will stop at nothing. An attack has already been made against me, aboard ship. I survived, thanks in large part to your father's men. Worry not for me, but for yourself and the rest of your loved ones for it is they who are the true targets._

_I fear my alarm is too late, that I have lost you only just as I found you. If this is the case, I shall do all within my power to bring justice to those responsible. Know this. If by some miracle you are spared, know that I shall find you once again, and we shall be together for all eternity._

_Yours ever faithfully,_

_Nathaniel_

Nathaniel folded the missive, set his personal seal to it, and set it aside as the men returned then, the four of them crowding into the small cabin. In addition to Trinion and Grayson, there were Nyles and Padraig. Seating himself more firmly into a sitting position, Nathaniel eyed each man individually. "I fear," he told them severely, "that my father has made a move against the Teyrn and Highever. If I am right, when we return to Highever, we will be facing off against his men." He saw the scowls on these four Highever soldiers deepen. "My wife, the Teyrn and Teyrna, Fergus' own family as well as your own friends and family are in grave danger."

"What are your intentions, my lord?" Padraig asked. He appeared to be the youngest of the group, but Nathaniel knew him to be a truly loyal man to Bryce Cousland.

"My name might be my father's," Nathaniel replied quietly, "but my heart belongs to the Couslands. We return. We scout out the situation. We take our findings to the king and determine the next steps from there." He sighed heavily. "I will not suggest that our task will be easy. If the things I have seen and heard tonight are true, we have a long, hard battle ahead of us." He lifted his eyes to each one of them, his determination obvious for them to see. "I will tell you that I have no intention of allowing my father to get away with this treachery. You may fight with me or against me as you choose," he added, "but I will tell you this: I  _will_  find my wife and return her and her family to their rightful places. Of that there can be no doubt. Any questions?"

Trinion straightened, surveying his companions silently and quickly. "We are with you, my lord," he assured Nathaniel. "When we return to Highever, it will be as a unified unit."

Nathaniel felt a wave of relief pass through him. He had feared that perhaps these men of Highever would not stand beside him, but it now seemed that they would be willing to do so. "Right," he told them. "When we get to Kirkwall, before we sail back, I wish to seek out assistance. My former lord is there, he will provide men to assist us. Once we have a small force, we shall secure a ship to return. Any questions?" Nathaniel looked around again. "Good. We have plans to make … how far from Kirkwall are we?"

Nyles' deep voice rumbled, "We should arrive on the morning tide."

Nathaniel nodded. "Good. Let's start making more detailed plans then." Nathaniel reached for his pack and nodded as Trinion handed it to him. Retrieving one of the maps Bryce Cousland had lent him, he began to go over the lay of the land with them ….


	26. The Great Escape

As she led Duncan and Constant away from the larder, Bryallyn felt her emotions closing down on her. She felt detached almost from her surroundings, almost as if she was moving through a thick fog. She could hear Constant's heavy canine panting ahead of her, the sounds of soldiers trying to break in through the kitchen door behind them. When she finally reached the secret panel, she heard Duncan's insistent voice warn her, "We must leave  _now_  if we are to escape …."

Bryallyn slid her hand along the wall to find the trigger. The moment it was released, the barricade opened and she signalled first Constant and then the Commander through. Bryallyn brought up the rear, closing the secret portal behind the three of them and at the same time, cutting them off from the sounds of battle behind them. Reaching out to the wall to her right, Bryallyn found the pair of dwarven runes that, when touched, emitted a soft light with which they could see. The tiny room was suddenly lit with enough light for Bryallyn to search the shelves, pulling packs down in rapid succession, searching for items of value. She moved quickly, adeptly, pack by pack. Grabbing two of the canvas bags, she handed them to Duncan. "Take these," she instructed, her tone of voice brooking no argument. She then reached for two that together looked almost like saddlebags for a horse but smaller. These she attached to Constant. Bryallyn then reached for two more packs: one which she shouldered immediately, the second she hesitated, glancing back over her shoulder. Feeling unshed tears building behind her eyes, she shouldered the second pack as well and then reached for one more which she carried loosely in her hand.

Dousing the light, Bryallyn removed them from the shelf and placed them in the last bag. "Follow me," she told Duncan as she moved around him and continued forward. Slowly, surely, she led her companions to the outer door. Pausing a long moment, she reached out for Duncan's arm. Squeezing it, she said, "We have one of three choices now. This door opens along the outer west wall of the keep. To the west is a line of trees where we can run to take shelter or hide our progress. To the right it leads to some of the practice fields, down along the coast, and from there along the coastline. To the left leads directly into Highever town. Undoubtedly it will take us closer to the attacking troops instead of away, but with all of the confusion right now, we may be able to sneak past them." Bryallyn lifted her hand against the wall in front of them. A moment later the stone wall shifted to the left with a soft scrape of stone against stone; the whoosh of fresh air assaulting their senses along with the smell of burning ash; the shouts and yells of alarm and terror from some, battle cries and an enjoyment of the attack from others. Glancing up at the Warden, Bry whispered, "Which way?"

Duncan glanced quickly in all three directions, assessing the situation, evaluating his choices. "If we head through the trees will we be able to get around and out of the town unseen?" he asked quickly.

Bryallyn nodded. "It will take us longer, but eventually it leads us to the city wall which we can follow around to the gates. My only concern is that the additional time may be enough for Howe's soldiers to be better organized, they might be able to recognize us as escapees from the castle by then."

"If we head directly through town, won't they notice us now?" Duncan challenged.

Bryallyn reached for one of her bags. Opening the sack, she pulled out a heavy, old and worn cloak which she donned, pulling the hood up to hide her features. "In one of your bags should be one as well. It may not be much, but given the confusion at the moment, it will give us enough time to get through and escape I think."

As she finished, Duncan found his cloak and pulled it on, hooking the clasp at his throat before pulling up his own hood. Bryallyn felt a moment of panic grasp at her throat as she recognized the cloak as one belonging to her father.  _Papa!_ "Through the town and quickly," Duncan agreed.

Recovering herself a moment later, Bryallyn touched a stone on the outside wall which triggered the closure of the wall behind them. Then giving Constant a hand signal to remain at her side and silent, the three began following the wall that surrounded the keep around until they reached the front edge. Here, the sounds of attack, the screams of the innocent were louder, stronger, more terrifying to Bryallyn than she could possibly have imagined, but she forced it all to the side for the moment. They had to focus on their escape, not about those for whom they could offer no assistance. She peeked around the corner of the wall, noting the location of all of Howe's soldiers and equipment, and then stepped back, bumping into Duncan who had leaned forward over her to do the same. Once both were behind the wall again, Bryallyn glanced up to him, noting that he had unsheathed his longsword and dagger. "Follow me," he told her sharply as he moved to take the point. Bryallyn reached for  _Wicked Grace_  and adjusted her quiver so that she could readily reach the missiles should they be needed. Constant remained behind his mistress, bringing up the rear.

Duncan led her and Constant through the winding streets of the town below the keep, weaving in and out of the shadows, bypassing groups of soldiers as they marched along in squads. It became clear that many of the townsfolk were in the same predicament as those in the keep, and Bryallyn felt her heart breaking at the sights and sounds.  _We failed our people,_  she thought as she felt the cold trails of tears roll down her cheeks.  _They gave us their love and loyalty, and we failed them when they needed us most!_  Bryallyn knew it would be something that would take her a long time to process and get over, if she ever did.

At one point, as they threesome neared the city gates and the road to freedom beyond, Bryallyn saw the shape of one of the town elders as he was being held against the outer wall of his home at sword's point while Howe's men were searching through the building. She gasped when he looked right at her, recognition dawning on his face. Bryallyn reached out to alert Duncan, but before she could, the elder began arguing and protesting, about what she could not tell as the wind carried their voices in another direction, but she was intelligent enough to realize that the man was offering them the distraction they needed to move beyond these soldiers and get outside the gates to make a run for it. With one last look of thanks in the man's direction, Bryallyn gestured Duncan towards the gates and she and Constant followed. The gates themselves were closed, but through some lack of judgement? Miscommunication? Or just plain huge error on Howe's soldiers' parts, no one was guarding it. Bryallyn moved in front of Duncan towards the smaller door, the one that allowed individuals through as opposed to the larger portcullis, and she produced a key from one of the packs she carried. Quickly she unlocked it, gestured Duncan and Constant through, and then followed, pausing for just a moment to re-lock the door behind them. She hesitated before turning to face her companions, taking a deep breath as she glanced back up the road leading to the keep where she could still see evidence of the attack, the destruction and hear the sound of those left behind. She allowed this to burn deep into her memory, swearing a silent oath that they would be avenged, this would not be allowed to go unpunished.  _Never forget!_  She felt a strong but gentle hand upon her shoulder then and knew it was Duncan. Her voice tight with hidden pain, she told him, "Let's go," before turning to walk away from her home.

The first few days on the run they traveled mostly at night using the nearly full moon as their light source. At this point, they were more concerned about discovery and felt that travel at night, despite it's dangers even with the brightness of the moon guiding their way, was the best option. During the days they would find a large grouping of rocks, an indentation of a cave, some place in which they could hide relatively safely until the security of darkness fell once more. There was no guarantee that some of the Howe soldiers hadn't discovered their escape and somehow figured out their direction (they certainly had not had time to cover their tracks) and they knew they had to remain cautious. On the fourth night, as they began turning their way southwards, Bryallyn discovered their destination.

"We go to Ostagar," Duncan told her. "The king is there, many other forces … your brother and Highever troops …. There will be safety there, in numbers if nothing else."

Bryallyn's breath caught, a tight band constricting across her chest.  _Fergus!_ "How long will it take us by foot?" she asked. "We must warn him! Howe sent men after Nathaniel as well. If he did that to his own son, imagine what he could do to my brother!"

Duncan nodded reassuringly and replied, "It will take us three weeks to get to Ostagar by foot. If we were to obtain horses along the way …."

Bryallyn felt her shoulders slump at Duncan's comment. Horses were so rare across Ferelden, it would be impossible for them to obtain mounts and even if they did, it would be a rare enough sight that it would mark their presence to others instead of keeping them hidden. "I understand," she replied reluctantly. "Taking a chance on giving ourselves away wouldn't help Fergus any either."

Their path took them down the west side of Lake Calenhad along the Imperial Highway, though when they made camp, they put enough distance between themselves and the highway so that no other travelers would note their presence. As they continued their journey, Bryallyn felt herself beginning to give in to the depression that had been haunting at her heels as they departed Highever. Every voice, each unique face, would haunt her as she slept, their ghostly images and voices taunting and teasing her so that she would wake up in a cold sweat. She insisted upon sharing the watch with Duncan when they would make their camp, hoping that the simple chores, the necessity of focus and concentration on something other than what had occurred would help her recovery. But as each day passed, each of the tormenting visions revisited, Bryallyn felt her body beginning to protest physically as well. By their second week on the road, she had lost so much sleep that she was becoming physically ill … she could not keep food down, she had dark circles under her eyes, she became listless and her health began affecting their travel speed.

_Bryce's look of pride and joy the day when Bryallyn was seven and Fergus was twelve … when Bryallyn called to her animal friends to save her brother's life from kidnappers …._

_The twinkle of delight in Eleanor's eyes as they competed against each other, year after year … none more memorable than the day that Bryallyn had surpassed Eleanor's skill with the bow …._

_The face of her beloved hero, the brother she had admired for so long, the day that he had officially welcomed her into the ranks of Highever's soldiers, proudly leading her around and introducing her to those she did not know … the cheers of the soldiers as they welcomed her to their ranks as Fergus led them on …._

_The day that Bryallyn had admitted to Oriana that she was in love with Nathaniel and the squeal of delight the Antivan had released, such a contrast to her usual quiet and reserved demeanor …._

_The unbridled joy Oren's face would display whenever Bryallyn and Constant would play "Kill the Dragon" with him …._

_Ser Roland Gilmore … the complete and utter gentlemen around all the women of Highever, no matter their station, whether they were in the keep or in the town …._

_Nan's instant ire as she caught Bryallyn and Fergus sneaking out of the kitchen with some of the latest batch of baked treats … before giving in and allowing them each two or three apiece …._

_Nathaniel …._

Bryallyn's heart dropped as the time that she and her husband had spent together over the years began running over and over in her mind like the rereading of a favorite book ….  _In the garden at the royal palace in Denerim … dancing together … sitting and talking … competing in archery … the day on the battlements when Nathaniel had let Bryallyn know just how he truly felt about her … the day of their wedding when Bryallyn had first laid eyes upon him standing beside Mother Mallol …._

Bryallyn felt Constant nudging his muzzle against her back, his soft whining breaking into the misery consuming her. Turning over on her bedroll, Bryallyn rested her head on her hound's chest as she cried softly, "Oh Constant, what will I do without him? Without the others?" To the mabari's credit he remained still, offering soft whining bursts in sympathy and his solid presence for comfort.

"How could he  _do_  it?" she sobbed. "How could that bastard kill his own son?"

So engulfed in her pain and confusion was Bryallyn that she did not notice Duncan standing nearby taking it all in. The Warden Commander and the mabari shared a long, knowing glance, and Duncan knew then that he would ask her. He'd waited … out of respect for his long-time friendship with Bryce, out of concern for Bryallyn's state of mind. But Duncan suspected that she was beginning to make her first steps to move beyond her pain … that she would agree to become a Warden because it would give her life focus when she needed it most.  _I should team you up with Alistair,_  Duncan mused.  _If anyone might be able to relate to you and your pain, he should … and perhaps that humor of his might be healing for you …._

About a week out from Ostagar, as they rounded the southern end of Lake Calenhad, Duncan finally approached Bryallyn. They had made camp for the evening and he was returning from hunting for their evening meal when Bryallyn spotted him approaching her position near the fire. She took the two animals and began cleaning them, her mood quiet and restrained. Most evenings since their flight from Highever, Duncan had left her to her own thoughts. This evening, he took a seat beside her, taking the animals once she finished cleaning them and preparing them on a spit so they would roast. "Have you given thought to what you will do once we reach Ostagar," he asked her in a voice that was deceptively quiet and calm.

Bryallyn remained silent for a while choosing to keep her thoughts close to herself. Silently, she acknowledged the question, had been expecting it almost since their travels had turned them south. However, she had yet to come up with an answer that she felt was satisfactory to herself let alone anyone else.

After a time, she shifted position so that she could look at the Warden Commander. Eying him closely, she stated in a quiet voice, "You want me to become a Warden."

Duncan gave her a nod of agreement. "Our need is great, yes," he admitted to her. "But at this point, I am not prepared to force the issue. I would ask, however," he continued, his deep voice taking on the tone of one used to stating his arguments for any given situation, "that you take into consideration several mitigating factors. First, there is a Blight upon us. Grey Wardens are essential in the defeat of the Blight. Though there are Wardens throughout Thedas, our numbers here in Ferelden are small."

Bryallyn's head ducked in acknowledgement. Like most her age, she grew up hearing about the Wardens and their return to Ferelden when Maric took the throne after the Occupation.

"Second," Duncan continued, "During times such as these, everyone must do their duty. You know this - your father has taught you the importance of duty, of doing whatever it takes to get the job done."

Bryallyn's head nodded again, though she looked away, attempting to hide the tears that were leaking through. "Couslands always do their duty," she whispered.

Duncan nodded, recognizing her words as Bryce's mantra. Quietly, he added, "And thirdly, Bryallyn, though you may not feel it now, you will find a way through your current pain. Having something to focus on, something to give you purpose and make you feel as if your life is worth living for will aide you through that process." He saw her look up at him then and he held her gaze. "Trust me, I know of what I speak."

Bryallyn found that, knowing what she already knew of the order, she could not find fault with his arguments. However, she was loathe to jump into a major life-changing decision without giving it some serious thought. "Do I have to give you my answer now?"

Duncan rose to his feet and began preparing to take the watch. Silently, he understood that she had already made her choice. Vocally, he told her, "No, of course not. I will wait to ask you to make your final decision when we reach Ostagar."

Bryallyn nodded as she turned towards her bedroll. "Thank you," she whispered after his retreating form. As she settled down for the night, she found herself thinking of what Duncan had said, the arguments he had used. She knew he was right, that her family would have reminded her to do her duty as a Cousland if they had been present. But more than that, she found herself focusing on her husband, what he might have advised her had he been with her.

" _You are a Cousland, this is true," he might have said, "and I would not expect you to go against the way you were raised. You know the difference between right and wrong, Bry. Do not let anyone push you into something you feel is wrong. Just the same, do not go against what you know is right."_

Bryallyn's hand snaked up to the charm she wore at her neck, the one that the fortune teller had given to her. Fisting her hand around it, she squeezed until she could feel the bite of the tooth cutting into her palm.  _Oh, Nathaniel, what I would give to have you here with me …. Your quiet strength, your outward calm, your steady presence. I wonder if you ever knew what you did for me … I don't know that I can be as strong as you … but I will try …._

True to his word, Duncan did not press the issue with Bryallyn. The remainder of their journey was uneventful with only one stop in a village large enough for Duncan to post some messages to Ostagar ahead of their arrival. When they arrived at the remote outpost, and just before descending the hills to enter the ruins, Duncan pulled Bryallyn aside for a moment. "Have you an answer for me?" he asked gently.

Bryallyn found herself looking up at him, her features filled with pain but beginning to harden against that. "My first concern must be warning my brother. If he is lost, I am the sole remaining Cousland," she mused. She could hear her father's voice in her head, reminding her of her duty. She thought of her husband, the vision she'd had, the words she'd overheard.  _Nathaniel, what should I do?_  But he was no longer there for her to ask his opinion, lean upon for suggestions, offer her his open and honest advice. She felt as if half of her was missing ...

Taking a deep breath, Bryallyn glanced out across the ruins below them, surveying the makeshift camp she found there; people willing to risk their lives to save those who were not able to fight. She recalled quite suddenly the day she had gone hunting with Nathaniel, Delilah and Thomas, of her attempts to make sure Delilah could defend herself. Nathaniel might be gone, but Delilah was not (Bryallyn certainly hoped at any rate). If she wasn't already a target for her father, she could potentially become one for the darkspawn. Others who were less than able to defend themselves as well.  _You have a gift, Pup,_  Bryce had explained to her once.  _You can defend those who cannot defend themselves. As soldiers, as Couslands we must always do our duty. And at the top of our list of duties is defending those who cannot defend themselves._

"I will become a Warden, yes," Bryallyn finally announced to Duncan before turning to start the descent into the camp, Constant ever at her side.


	27. In Defense of Self

When  _La Gaviota (The Seagull)_  docked in Kirkwall, Nathaniel disembarked first, leading the men from the docks, through the city and towards the city gates that would put them on the road leading to the estate of Doran Antell. Though Devlyn had assured Nathaniel that he was the only attacker, Nathaniel now knew better than to trust  _any_  word his father gave to  _any_ one. His dark features now sporting a more severe look, Nathaniel kept his guard at a high level, his eyes constantly scanning ahead, around, afar. His senses were attuned to his surroundings and he kept the men with him close by. They, too, were on full alert.  _The bastard will not catch me or the others unawares again!_  Nathaniel swore.

They made their way through town without drawing undue attention, making a quick stop in the marketplace to purchase foodstuffs for their journey and any other last minute items that they felt they might need along the road. Though he had been here before, the sounds, smells and sights familiar, Nathaniel could take little comfort in it. Though his focus was centered on survival, he still felt the pull of concern for Bryallyn, the Couslands and all back at Highever who had unwittingly become targets.  _Bry, love, you were right!_  he admitted silently.  _There was something more at work behind all of this. I should have listened to you …._

"We are ready, my lord," Trinion announced quietly, approaching Nathaniel from his left.

Nathaniel remained still for a moment as his thoughts returned and settled. "Let's go then," Nathaniel replied at last, giving Trinion a nod and pushing himself away from the stone wall of the building he had been leaning against. "We have no time to waste."

Trinion watched Nathaniel carefully as the younger man took the point. Ever since the betrayal by his second, Trinion had seen the younger man's demeanor darkening, hardening. Not that Trinion begrudged him his anger and hatred; far from it. Yet, Trinion knew that if his lord lost himself in this manner, it might become near impossible to return to this point without some sort of repercussions. As they marched northwards out of the city of Kirkwall, Trinion found himself wondering if he ought to say something.

When the group paused near mid-day, Nathaniel managed to down some of the jerked meat and bread that they had purchased in town, but he spent the vast majority of his break pacing around the edges of their makeshift camp. They were an hour, maybe two at most, from the Antell estate. For many reasons, Nathaniel found himself nervous. He alone knew the true significance of the heraldic device that he and Bryallyn had taken from their attackers at the lodge. But now, given all that had transpired since aboard ship and the suggestions of what had happened at Highever, Nathaniel couldn't help but wonder if the lord he had served faithfully had been turned into a victim of Rendon Howe as well.

Nathaniel was interrupted in his musings when he felt a strong hand at his shoulder. He detected the scent of tobacco and mint leaves nearby and pressed his lips into a thin semblance of a smile. "Are you ready, Trinion?" he asked, his stormy eyes still locked onto the direction of their final destination as he spoke to the man.

"We are, my lord," he agreed.

"Good. We are only a couple of hours away. We should have some answers by this afternoon."

Trinion nodded. He was about to question Nathaniel regarding his earlier thoughts and observations, but Nathaniel turned and called the other men over. "I need to explain a few things before we depart," he told them solemnly while retrieving his pack so that he could show them the heraldic device. Nathaniel took the time to explain in more detail the attack that had occurred at the hunting lodge, the meaning of the device and who it belonged to.

Looking at each man individually, he added, "Given what nearly happened to me aboard ship; what has inevitably occurred at Highever and possibly even at Ostagar, I think we may be facing a situation where Lord Antell has become a victim of my father as well." He stopped speaking for a long moment, allowing time for comments.

The four men looked at each other first, then three nodded at Trinion. "My lord," Trinion began, "based upon what you have told us, and the briefing that we received from Teyrn Cousland before our departure, we cannot help but agree with your assessment. Teyrn Cousland has nothing but the utmost respect and admiration for Doran Antell. He told us that the one time that they had met, he found Lord Antell to be of unquestioning honor and was proud to call him a friend."

In the back of his mind, Nathaniel could hear a voice screaming,  _You called Rendon Howe friend too!_ Shaking aside these thoughts, Nathaniel tucked the cloth back into his pack and announced, "Good. As we are of the same mind, then, we shall enter the estate in a non-threatening manner. Only, and I repeat  _only_ , if our reception is one that is less than favorable will we consider anything remotely offensive. Do I make myself clear?" Nathaniel watched each man nod at him in agreement. "Good. Let's go then."

* * *

The approach to the Antell's keep was designed to create one way and only one way into and out of it. Geographically, the area was surrounded by miles upon miles of thickly forested land that had been manipulated until only one road into and and out of it had been possible. Nathaniel knew from his time serving Lord Antell that there were periodically spaced look out positions, and that if they were to enter the estate, their presence would be noted and announced long before they reached the gates.

So it was with some concern that, as Nathaniel led his small group down the road leading to the keep, he noticed the look out positions were un-manned. The positions were not easy to someone who did not know they were there. Nathaniel knew each and every location grew more and more alarmed the closer they came to the estate without noticing one single scout. Subtly motioning Trinion closer, Nathaniel alerted the soldier to his concerns. "Be prepared," he concluded. Trinion grunted his acknowledgement and stepped back to brief the others.

Before arriving at the gate, Nate loosed the catch holding his daggers in their sheaths should he need to arm himself quickly. Signalling Trinion to his left side and Nyles to his right. Padraig and Grayson formed up behind him. Slowly, calmly, carefully, Nathniel took the first step over the threshold ….

They were several yards inside the gate when Nathaniel signaled the group to stop and gave a hand signal to Grayson. The soldier grunted softly in acknowledgement and stepped around the rest of them to approach the trap Nathaniel had spotted. While he worked on the trap, Nathaniel and the others kept an eye on their surroundings, senses on full alert.

As Grayson stepped back into place, he paused for the briefest moment beside Nathaniel and murmured, "These are professionally made, my lord."

Nathaniel nodded and allowed Grayson to fall back into position before leading them forward once more. This procedure continued twice more, until they reached the doors to the keep. Frowning, all sorts of internal alarms sounding off in his head, Nathaniel held a hand up to halt his men. "Something is not right here," he told them quietly. "We should have met Lord Antell at the gates along with a contingent of his troops."

"There is movement inside, my lord," Nyles informed him in a soft voice. "I saw shadows shifting through one of the window.

Nathaniel nodded, pausing to recall the layout of the keep. "Remember," he told them as he reached for the door, "we must be attacked first."

They entered swiftly, Grayson wedging the door open to allow some light in the area near the entry. Nathaniel led the way indoors, the entrance quickly descending into main portion of the great hall. If there would be any challenge, Nathaniel believed it might come from inside the hall itself. There were a series of columns on the left and the right separating out smaller areas off of the hall; perfect for an ambush. As Nathaniel led the men inside, he thought he could hear the sounds of shifting feet, the brush of leather armor against a stone wall, the hushed voices as someone gave instructions.

Nathaniel's hands lowered towards his daggers, his hands giving his men the signal to be prepared when the battle cry came. The instant he heard it, Nathaniel recognized not only the family cry for Antell, but the voice behind it. "Ar gyfer y Gororau a'r Arglwydd Antell!"

 _Rhyan Meyrick!_  As the cry echoed throughout the hall, Nathaniel and the others took defensive stances. Nathaniel signaled Grayson and Padraig to remain behind them when it became obvious that there were only three opponents. Per Nathaniel's instructions, he and his men only responded with defensive maneuvers. Out of the corner of his eye, Nathaniel saw Trinion's opponent go down, Trinion moving to keep the man incapacitated. Nyles had his opponent well in hand, though they were still fighting. Nathaniel was doing his best to keep from injuring Rhyan who was attacking him with a ferocity that he had never seen in the years he had known her. Though he remained defensive, Nathaniel attempted to raise his voice above the sounds of battle even as he was defending himself. "Rhyan, stop! We are here in peace!"

"Peace - ha! What would you know of peace when you send men to destroy your lord?" Rhyan cried as she launched another attack upon him.

Nathaniel shifted his position, moving out of harm's way. "I sent no one, Rhyan! Think about it! Where would I find funds to hire men to do such?"

Rhyan, a sword and shield warrior, attacked Nathaniel again, her motions strong and precise. Nathaniel finally slipped into his shadow forms, dancing his way out of harm, circling Rhayn, whispering his arguments to her. "I was not the one to attack - it was my father, his men." As he moved around, he reached inside his armor where he had moved the heraldic device before they entered the building. Retrieving this, he tossed it at her, watching it as it landed upon her arm. He caught her hesitation - surprise, shock or that he finally had her attention, he did not know - and he told her in a voice filled with pain, "This was upon the shields of the men who tried to kill me and my wife on our honeymoon."

"Liar!" she hissed, though her attacks seemed to be losing force somewhat. Nathaniel watched as she allowed the material to slide onto her sword before flinging it away from her.

Nathaniel stepped behind her, leaning in towards her ear to add, "Rendon Howe has turned traitor - he attacked Highever to kill the Couslands, he convinced Devlyn to betray me … he tried to blame it all on Doran Antell …." Nathaniel stepped out of his shadow forms and sheathed his daggers, facing Rhyan unarmed. He watched the fire in her eyes light up as she saw him, stepping forward to finish him off. "My father killed my wife and her family, tried to have me killed, all in an effort to advance himself." As he was speaking, he saw Rhyan advancing on him, preparing to take advantage of his unarmed state. As he finished speaking, he looked directly into her eyes, hoping she would see beyond her hatred to find the truth there.

Rhyan was breathing heavily with exertion as she lifted her sword brought it down, her battle cry tearing from her lips, but Nathaniel met and held her gaze and he did not flinch. From one second to the next, Rhyan went from battle-ready fierce warrior to dropping her shield and sword and collapsing against Nathaniel, heaving huge sobs of anguish and despair. Nathaniel caught her in his arms, sinking to his knees with her, his arms banding around her and holding her close as she released emotions he suspected she had yet to deal with.  _The same could be said of yourself!_  he realized suddenly.


	28. What Remains

The time that followed proved to be sufficient for a brief tour, the sights and smells of the damage done serving to darken Nathaniel's ever brooding mood even more.  _So much death_ , he thought, _and all of it unnecessary …._

As he followed Rhyan through the keep, Trinion close behind, Nathaniel took notice of each and every detail. He listened to Rhyan's words, heard the pain in her voice. He knew that she had been related to Doran Antell - a cousin or something through her father's side - just as he knew that her pain now must be as unbearable as his own.

"They came under a banner of peace," she told him numbly, her voice falling into the monotonic tones resembling a child reading from a book on a subject that he or she cared absolutely nothing about. "We allowed them entry; gave them beds to sleep in. We shared our tables and toasted old friends come and gone …."

They crossed from the common areas into the living quarters of the Antell family; the rooms they had once shared with Nathaniel during his stay. He could see debris, residue from battles, embers from a fire that had long since grown cold. Broken beams above them, partially fallen from the closed pathways; tapestries both burnt and torn; upturned tables, cleaved beds … and Maker … the sight and scent of blood …. It was the residual stains of all the blood that made his heart ache and his own blood run cold.  _How did Rhyan and her men survive?_

"They struck during second watch," Rhyan continued, "two hours before the shift would change. They did not have to force their way inside, for we had given them entry. They simply coordinated their attack from the inside. One group attacked here, in the living quarters, and two more groups took out the barracks."

Again Nathaniel found himself wondering how Rhyan had escaped unhurt … at least, physically unhurt. That she was emotionally and mentally scarred he had no doubt. "You are certain they were from Amaranthine?" he asked carefully. He and Trinion exchanged a look. They had to be certain.

Rhyan's eyes lifted, caught and held his gaze. "They spoke in the Ferelden tongue, they had the heraldry with the bear … like the one you showed me when you were here."

Nathaniel nodded, recalling the time that they had shown each other their familial heraldic devices.  _Father does not have enough men to do something this extensive!_  he argued silently.  _How could it possibly have been him unless …._  Nathaniel felt as if ice suddenly coursed through his veins as he realized what tactics his father must have employed to make this happen.  _Someone gave him reinforcements! But … who?_

Nathaniel was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he did not see Rhyan travel on ahead of him until Trinion stepped up and cleared his throat. "My lord?" Nathaniel watched as the soldier gestured in the direction that Rhyan had just taken. "Thank you," he murmured in response, turning to follow his friend.

He found her in a room that, upon further inspection, was clearly a nursery. Though the furniture was ruined, large enough pieces remained for Nathaniel to determine that there was a crib, a table and two chairs in addition to numerous toys scattered all around them. Rhyan was kneeling beside a large wooden chest along the far wall, rummaging through what remained. "Rhyan -" he called softly, realizing she was searching for something particular. He moved beside her slowly, and she rose to her feet as he stepped closer. He looked into her hand finding a small figure of a sword and shield warrior, a warrior sporting the Antell device on his shield.  _Ioan_ , he remembered suddenly.  _Rhyan's little brother._

"He was only seven, Nate," she whispered painfully. "He was just about to be sent off to become a page …."

Nathaniel sighed heavily with regret, running a hand through his hair. "I know," he replied quietly. "I remember." And he did. During his short stay here, he and Ioan had taken a liking to each other.

Turning suddenly, her green eyes blazing with fury, Rhyan growled out, "I want  _vengeance_ , Nate! He must pay for his crimes!"

 _He …?_  Nathaniel nodded immediately. He had already come to the same conclusion for similar reasons both known and unsure. "Join with me, Rhyan," he coaxed, extending his hand for her to take or leave as she saw fit. "There are things you don't yet know, but our missions are one and the same. Join your forces to mine and we will hunt my father down and bring him to justice."

Nathaniel watched as she stared at his hand for a long moment. He had chosen his words carefully, making them eerily similar to the words that Doran Antell had spoken when requesting their oaths of fealty years before. In order to convince Rhyan, Nathaniel knew that she would need that fealty bond, that tie of allegiance to give her the sense of purpose she needed to continue after such a loss. Then, after a very long moment, Rhyan looked up at him, nodded once, took his hand with her own and bowed over it slightly giving him the more formal response t hat they had both spoken to Lord Antell years before: " _I promise on my faith that I will in the future be faithful to the lord, never cause him harm and will observe my homage to him completely against all persons in good faith and without deceit."_

It was enough.

* * *

_They were in bed together, laying close, Nathaniel's arm wrapped lightly around Bryallyn's waist, hers resting atop his. He leaned forward, pushing her loose hair tot he side so that he could kiss her neck in the spot he knew drove her wild. He could feel her hand tighten upon his as his lips made contact, hear her breathing catch, see the flush rising to her face as her body began responding to his touch._

_They did not speak, knowing what they had - here and now - was limited. Instead, they relied on senses other than sound to communicate. The touch of Bryallyn's fingers against Nathaniel's bare chest that felt like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. The soft sighs of pleasure and contentment escaping their lips in response. The sheen of moisture that reflected the light of the fire blazing in the nearby hearth._

_Nathaniel felt a groan begin as a deep rumble, low in his chest. It crawled and grabbed and pushed its way out from between his lips as he made love to his wife. And as he moved over her, prepared to show her the depths of his love for her, Nathaniel came to a halt as a barricade appeared between them, her voice crying, sobbing, "We cannot my love!"_

_He was astounded at the words, confused as to why she might say them. "But why? Bry, I am your husband!"_

_She looked at him, the sadness filling her eyes and overflowing with the tears there. "We cannot because you are dead to me!" she whispered brokenly._

_With those few words, Nathaniel reared back from her, settling upon his knees. "Nooooooooo!" he roared, the sound forced from his chest, his head thrown back as the sound echoed around him. But when he looked down at where she was laying beneath him, she was gone .. he was alone. "Bry!" he cried again, his voice much more hoarse than earlier. "Bryallyn! Where are you?"_

* * *

Nathaniel awoke with a start feeling his body jerk in reaction to the dream. He glanced around him in the dimly lit hall where they had made their camp before rising slowly to his feet. All except for Grayson and Nyles, he saw, were still sleeping, and that pair had the last watch he knew. They would be outside the hall now, patrolling the perimeter.

Moving quietly, for that was how he was trained, Nathaniel made his way over to the far side of the room where there was a window so that he could glance outside. Moonlight was shining down, covering the area in a wash of light and giving it an almost haunting appearance.

 _It was just a dream_ , he reminded himself, though shakily.  _Just a dream …._  Nathaniel could not hold back a shudder, however, at the foreshadowing nature of the vision.  _It was so damned real!_ Fighting himself internally, Nathaniel muttered, "Bry would not give up like that! She would not stop fighting!"

He stood there alone for some time, his thoughts drifting as he continued to stare outside without focus. So far away was he in mind, memory and spirit, that he did not hear the approach of footsteps behind him. Nathaniel was startled when he felt a strong grip on his shoulder. "My lord?"

Turning, Nathaniel found Trinion at his side. "Yes?" he managed, his voice a bit raspy.

"If it wouldn't seem too out of place," the soldier said quietly, "may I relate a story to you? Concerning the Lady Bryallyn?"

Nathaniel sighed, his eyes moving to stare back out at the early morning sky once more. "If you like," he finally replied. For, despite his own personal losses, he knew that these Highever men would feel it as well, and feel it deeply. Particularly if things were as bad as Devlyn had indicated they would be.

Trinion shifted his position slightly so that he was glancing outside as well. "I have been in service with Teyrn Cousland for fifteen years now," he began. "During that time, I feel I have come to know the Cousland family quite well. I am both proud and honored to be a guard of Highever."

Nathaniel took a moment to eye the man beside him. Since the beginning of this journey, Nahthaniel had understood that Trinion was unofficially the leader of the four. It was clear that the others respected him. Nathaniel himself knew from personal experience during this trip that Trinion no only understood his place, but the capacity of that position. "Go on," Nathaniel finally encouraged.

Trinion nodded slightly before he did so. "When I first arrived at Highever, Lady Bryallyn was seven years old." He paused for just a moment to smile at the memory. "A very precocious seven years, I might add. It was a short time after my arrival that we learned of her … particular talents with the animals."

Nathaniel's smile was pained, but he could do no less. Though not familiar with the entire story, Nathaniel had heard enough to know of what the man spoke. "We were in the town, for Satinalia I believe. The square was crowded as it always was, the people coming out in droves to pay tribute to their Teyrn as much as he and the Teyrna would pay tribute to them, but the people wanted to be there, see it, experience. For many of them it was the only time that they might participate in such festivities."

Trinion shifted his position a bit so that he could lean his back against the wall. "It was while we were in town that day, while the Teyrn and Teyrna were speaking to the crowds that Lady Bryallyn noticed the kidnappers abduct and start running off with Fergus."

Nathaniel blinked.  _Kidnappers?_ This he had not heard. "What happened?" he asked.

Trinion smiled and shook his head in disbelief. "I was one of the Teyrn's procession that day, so I was standing near him and the Teyrna when Lady Bryallyn broke from her mother's grasp and took off running. I immediately ran after her, though she was quick and agile and barely eight years. She managed to get plenty far ahead of me however."

Nathaniel could not help the chuckle that escaped his lips. He could imagine all too easily Bryallyn escaping from her parents and scampering off.

"As I said, I followed, through the town square, down a number of side streets, eventually I realized she was heading towards the cliffs. I called out to her, but she refused to stop … and I soon found out why."

Facing Nathaniel again, Trinion stated, "Only Lady Bryallyn had noticed her brother being abducted by strangers. As we neared the cliffs, we turned down a dead end alley, the abductors now trapped. Three of them against a lone guard and a small girl. While two of them began advancing on me, Lady Bryallyn began calling for assistance, but not in the usual manner …."

Nathaniel was suddenly reminded of the incident with the Ferelden red-crested Falcon in the royal gardens when he had first met Bryallyn. "She called in the animals," he murmured.

Trinion nodded once. "So she did. Two dogs, a cat and some sort of bird as I recall. anyway, with their help we apprehended the men and Lord Fergus was saved."

Trinion took a deep breath then, as if recovering from his tale. "My lord, I do not tell you this to waste your time with idle gossip. I wish simply to remind you of this one fact: Lady Bryallyn Teresia Cousland-Howe will do whatever it takes to get the job done, particularly for those whom she loves. If she is yet alive, she will be found. You must have faith in this."

Nathaniel nodded, though in the back of his head he could still hear her saying,  _… you are dead to me!_  over and over again.

Straightening, Trinion bowed slightly and queried, "Will you get some more rest, my lord? Your skills will be useless to us if you do not take care of yourself."

Nathaniel waved the guard back to the sleeping area. "I will be along in a moment," he assured him.

After Trinion's departure, Nathaniel leaned his right arm against the window frame, his head leaning against the bone and muscle and sinew there.  _Bry_ , he called silently,  _are you safe? Are you even alive?_  He sighed heavily, and then noticed the lone bead of moisture trailing down his cheek to drop onto the white linen of his shirt, staining it for the duration. Straightening then, he wiped the residual moisture and then noticed in the dim lighting that the ring on his left hand - his ring of the pair that he and Bryallyn shared. Lifting the hand, Nathaniel pressed the metal to his lips and a moment later was surprised to feel a warmth generated in response by the metal.  _How strange_ , he thought briefly before turning back to his bedroll.

* * *

A goodly distance away, along the road south that would eventually lead them to Ostagar, Bryallyn stirred in her sleep. She dreamt she could feel his warmth wrapped around her, the length of his body protecting her in ways she had never known before him.  _"Bry -"_

" _Nathaniel -!"_ she called back, hoping she might see him.

A sudden intense warmth on her finger alerted Bryallyn that she had been asleep. As her eyes opened, she brought her hand to her lips, touching the ring on her finger. "Oh, Nathaniel …," she whispered painfully before drifting back into an uneasy sleep ….


	29. Royal Welcome

Duncan's long legged stride had caught up to Bryallyn and Constant as they neared the gates to the camp. Where they expected to find soldiers on guard duty to challenge them, however, they instead heard a youthful and exuberant, "Ho there, Duncan! I was beginning to think you'd miss all the fun!"

Bryallyn paused in her steps which allowed Duncan to move forward to greet the King of Ferelden. It had been some time since she had last seen Cailian, though Bryallyn recognized him readily enough. Though the years had passed, Bryallyn thought that time had been kind as Cailan did not seem to have aged much at all since the coronation ball she had attended …. Bryallyn felt her breathing catch suddenly as she realized that was the day that she and Nathaniel had met. Biting her lip, squeezing her eyes shut, she felt Constant nudge at her right hand as she desperately tried to push her emotional outburst aside.  _Later, my love … I will mourn you later …._

"The other Wardens told me that you've found a promising recruit, Duncan," the king was saying. His words seemed to help pull Bryallyn back to the reality surrounding her. "I take it this is she?"

As if sensing Bryallyn's momentary weakness, Duncan quickly injected, "Allow me to introduce you, your Majesty."

But the king waved him off and stepped forward, oblivious to any discomfort Bryallyn might have been feeling. "No need, Duncan," he assured the Commander. Turning his attention to Bryallyn, he continued, "You are Bryce's youngest, are you not? I don't believe we've actually met."

Bryallyn felt Constant nudge her leg gently this time, as if encouraging her to respond. "Yes, your Majesty," she managed, albeit weakly. "I am Bryallyn."

Nodding, Cailan told her, "Your brother has already arrived with Highever's men, but we are still awaiting your father."

Bryallyn's eyes darted to Duncan's as she gasped. "You … you have not heard then? You don't know what has happened?"

His manner seemed almost too casual, Bryallyn thought, as he made a dismissing gesture and replied, "News from the North has been unreliable at best. What has happened?"

Bryallyn opened her mouth to speak, but no sound emerged. She heard Duncan take up the question as his own as he explained, "Teyrn Cousland, his wife and and many at Highever are dead, your Majesty." Duncan paused for a moment as if to organize his thoughts before he continued, "Bryallyn's husband Nathaniel Howe and others sent upon a mission of great importance have been killed as well. Arl Rendon Howe has shown himself a traitor and overtaken Highever Castle. Had we not escaped, he would have killed us and told you any story he wished."

Bryallyn was watching the king's face to gauge his response. Clearly, the words came as a shock to him as his already light features paled considerably more. "I … can scarcely believe it!" he gasped. "How could he think that he would get away with such treachery!" Turning towards Bryallyn, he stepped forwards and reached for her hand. Taking it between his, his gaze catching hers, he told her earnestly, "I promise you, my lady, as soon as we are done here, I will turn my army north and bring Howe to justice! You have my word on that."

Bryallyn nodded, though his words did nothing to ease her inner turmoil or pain. "Thank you, your Majesty," she finally managed to choke out.

He remained holding her hand as he added, "No doubt you wish to see your brother. Unfortunately, he and his men are scouting in the Wilds, and they will not return until the battle is over. Until that time we cannot even send him word, I am afraid."

Bryallyn saw that he continued speaking, though her thoughts once again drifted.  _Fergus! Brother, stay safe! Be very wary … trust no one!_

Bryallyn felt the king release her hand and watched as he stepped back, but she still had her thoughts focused elsewhere.  _There must be some way we can reach Fergus! There must! He must be told what has happened! Of Oriana … and Oren …._  Bryallyn cringed slightly at this thought.  _I must be the one to tell him. I am his sister … the only family he has left. It is my duty …._

"... We've won three battles against these monsters and tomorrow should be no different."

Bryallyn frowned as she re-entered the conversation at the king's pronouncement. "You sound very confident of that, your Majesty," she said softly.

She thought at first she might have been a bit impertinent, but Cailan laughed and shrugged it off by replying, "Overconfident some would say. Right Duncan?"

Bryallyn saw the brief flicker of discomfort that passed over the Commander, but he replied, "Your Majesty, I'm not certain the Blight can be ended quite as quickly as you might wish."

Bryallyn found herself pondering these words as the two continued.  _Blight … Blights are ended by Wardens_ , she recalled from her lessons as a child,  _but why is that? What is it that Wardens can do that regular armies cannot? Does becoming a Warden give you some special ability? A special power?_

"... I must go," Cailan was saying as Bryallyn glanced up at him, "before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell, Grey Wardens."

Bryallyn blinked as the man turned to leave, his personal guard falling into step behind him. Glancing up at Duncan, she saw that he understood she had questions, and he gestured her to their left. As they walked, he told her, "What the king has said is true. They've won several battles against the darkspawn here."

Bryallyn analyzed his tone of voice, the gestures he was making with his hands as he spoke. "And yet you don't sound very reassured," she observed.

"I know there is an archdemon behind this," he told her insistently. "Unfortunately, I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling." He sighed heavily and added, "We should proceed with the ritual that will make you and the other recruits Grey Wardens. Feel free to explore the camp for now as you wish. I have some business to attend before we can move forward." He made a gesture towards Constant and Bryallyn found herself amazed that her hound responded as if he had been imprinted upon the Warden instead of her. "Your hound can stay with me for the time being. The Grey Warden tent is on the other side of the camp. You will find us there if you need to. When you are ready to proceed, find the Warden named Alistair and he will gather the others so that we can move forward."

Bryallyn frowned. "Alistair? How will I know who this Alistair is?" she queried.

"He is a young man," Duncan told her, "near your age I would think. You will know him when you see him. You two share a very similar sense of humor."

The sudden departure of Duncan and Constant was a bit disconcerting for Bryallyn after they had spent so much time together on the road. For the first time in almost a month, she found herself completely alone. It was a rather frightening experience for her.

_Feel free to look around …._

Duncan's words seemed to echo inside of her head and, though her heart was not really in it, she did so knowing that she would need to know her way around the camp. Forcing her private concerns aside for the moment, Bryallyn began wandering, searching … exploring. She made mental notes to herself of the locations of certain sections. Once she had crossed the bridge, she started seeing and hearing the typical signs of a military camp: she heard dogs barking, and along the far side of the camp she spotted the kennels.  _Mabari_ , she realized.  _I should speak with the kennel master about any special preparations or considerations for Constant._  She then noted the muted sounds of metal clanking against metal.  _An armorer_.

As she ventured into the camp proper, more people, more sounds: A Chantry priestess leading soldiers in prayer ( _I should seek her out later, some sort of memorial for mother, father … Nathaniel …._ ); a sergeant leading recruits in a training session regarding the darkspawn ( _I ought to sit in on this, listen to what he has to say about the darkspawn_ ); archers practicing against target dummies ( _I haven't really practiced for weeks …._ ).

_When you are ready, find Alistair …._

Bryallyn sighed as she continued her way through camp.  _Where do I find this Alistair?_  she wondered. She kept her eye out for him despite not knowing who exactly she was looking for as she continued to look around the camp.

Bryallyn found herself passing the infirmary, noting as she did several bodies lying on cots, hearing soft moans and frightened mutterings. She had half a thought to speak with one of the healers regarding her recent illness, but they all appeared busy tending those already under care and Bryalllyn did not want to interrupt those who clearly needed their attentions more.

Moving out and beyond, Bryallyn descended the ramp back to the main portion of the camp. Ahead of her she found what she assumed to be the mages' section, two shiny templars guarding the entrance from any non-mage types entering, or mages themselves leaving. She overheard a soldier nearby chatting up one of the female soldiers. Bryallyn glanced to her left and found, based on the supplies and other gear laying about, what she assumed to be the quartermaster.  _I should check our supplies, see what needs replenishing, what we could sell._  Beyond that was yet another ramp, this one leading up into more ruins. It appeared to lead to the only portion of the camp that she had yet to explore, so Bryallyn chose that direction.

Entering the ruins, Bryallyn found she had two option: to the left, she observed servants were preparing a large table with maps, markers and the like.  _This must be where King Cailan holds his military councils_ , she guessed. To her right lay another ramp, this one appearing to lead into some sort of chapel-like area. Wondering if the ruins of a chapel would offer as much solace as the real thing, Bryallyn chose this direction under the category of "anything was worth a shot at this point."

Slowly, quietly, Bryallyn ascended the ramp. As she neared the entrance at the top of the stairs, she felt her heart fall a bit as she realized that she was not alone … and by the sounds of it, there was an argument brewing. Sighing, Bryallyn lifted the hood to her cloak, obscuring the view of her face, helping to hide her further into the shadows. Hidden from view thus, she settled back to wait for the scene before her to pass.

Bryallyn observed that an older man, a mage if his robes were any indication, storm past her a short time later as he exited the ruins. Stepping back into view of the other man then she neared him just in time to hear him say, "You know one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."

Bryallyn gasped as she lifted her hand to lower her hood. She noted the lopsided grin he was sporting, his amber gaze twinkling with humor as he looked at her.

_Alistair has a unique sense of humor …._

"Are you the Grey Warden Alistair?" Bryallyn asked softly as she stepped forward. She saw him nod in response and as he began speaking, Bryallyn caught the sunlight shining off of his short dark blond hair looking for all the world as if he was wearing a halo. It took Bryallyn a moment to realize he had asked her a question. "Sorry … what?" she returned.

"You aren't a mage, are you?" he repeated. "Never mind," he then continued a half moment later. "I can see that you aren't. You're not wearing the robes."

Bryallyn could not stifle a chuckle of amusement at this. "No," she confirmed, "I am not a mage. My name is Bryallyn."

He seemed to pause, to frown for a moment. "Bryallyn …. Now why do I know that name?"

"Duncan and I just arrived from Highever," she explained. "He asked me to find you?"

He snapped his fingers together quickly as he began leading her out of the ruined chapel. " _That_  was it," he replied, the dawning recognition giving his voice a softer quality. "Duncan sent word that he would be bringing a recruit from Highever." They descended down the series of ramps that passed beside the quartermaster's stall. "If you need to purchase or sell anything, Braden here can help you," Alistair explained as they walked by. "He comes across a bit gruff, but he will make you an honest deal."

"I will keep that in mind," Bryallyn replied.

"Are you hungry? Tired? They should be about ready to serve lunch in the mess. If you're wanting to eat, it's best to get there early or your chances of getting anything to eat diminish rapidly." He grinned at her. "We are a hungry lot here."

Bryallyn's smile was a bit melancholic. "It was the same at Highever," she finally added in a soft voice, wondering if it ever would be that way again.  _Fergus,_  she thought.  _Fergus will take it back, make things right again. I have to believe in that!_

"Lunch then?" Alistair queried, giving her an enthusiastic look that reminded Bryallyn of Constant whenever he thought he'd talked her into a treat.

Bryallyn nodded, though she did not feel hungry at all. "Lunch," she agreed, if only to have a bit of time to learn more about him, the Wardens and the new future they would have together.

* * *

He and his canine companion found her near the mages' camp, her cauldron bubbling away with her potions, the nearby work table filled with poultices. She had her back to him, though he knew that she knew he was there. Giving the hound a signal to remain in his position and silent, he adjusted his position to wait patiently, quietly. She would acknowledge his presence when she had a mind to. Experience had taught him this many years before.

While he waited, he observed, noted, evaluated. It had been a while since he had last seen her. Her hair seemed to be as white as the snow-capped peaks of the Frostbacks, though still pulled back into the single ponytail she preferred which seemed to add a bit of youthfulness to her features. Her hair was not long, barely reaching her shoulders when untied. It had always been thus, from the moment they had met so many years before.  _Any longer and it would become a distraction, particularly in battle_ , she had once told him. Her eyes were a light blue that could match the sky on a clear day, yet they contained, and upon occasion hid, a great deal of wisdom.

Duncan was unsure how long he had been standing there when she turned, a smile spreading across her features. "Duncan! How good to see you safely returned," she greeted him as she approached to take his hands in hers, "and in time for the battle no less!"

Duncan chuckled as he saw her wink. "Ah, Wynne," he told her a bit cheekily, "I couldn't leave you to King Cailan's tender mercies all alone, now, could I?"

Wynne's chuckle was filled with warmth. "I would never forgive you!" she returned teasingly. "Now then, my friend, I am certain you did not seek me out for idle banter. Was your journey to Highever successful? Did you find your young recruit?"

When the Warden-Commander did not answer immediately, the mage knew that something was very, very wrong. "Duncan?" She glanced up at his dark, hawk-like eyes, his features looking so much older than when she'd seen him some two months previous. She could see that whatever had occurred had reached him at a more personal level as well. Reaching out to touch his arm (and by association to judge for herself that he was not ill), she asked softly, "Can you tell me?"

Duncan sighed heavily, allowed her to lead him over to a camp bench near the table, and sat. He felt Constant brush up against his leg, and he signaled the hound to settle beside him. Turning his attention back to the mage, he began slowly, explaining in detail the events that had occurred shortly after his arrival at Highever. As he told her his story, he watched her listen calmly (for she had known Bryce and Eleanor as well) while making tea for them both. When she set a cup in front of him, he raised an eyebrow. Wynne chuckled as she took a bench nearby. "Chamomile," she said softly. "Something calming, nothing more."

A short time later, he concluded, "We just arrived in camp this morning. I haven't even met up with Bernardo* or Alistair yet. Wynne … Bry has been ill this past week or so. Physically ill. I am afraid, whether she knows it or not, that she may be doing it to herself. She hasn't slept well since we left Highever; she doesn't eat much and when she does eat, she usually loses it a short time later." Sighing, he took a drink of the tea. "I know she is worrying herself over her brother, not knowing if he is alive or not. Would you examine her for me, Wynne? Make sure there is not something more serious going on other than the stress of the past few weeks? She has agreed to become a Warden, but I can't in good conscience put her through the Joining if she's seriously ill either."

Wynne nodded immediately. "Of course I will, Duncan," she assured him. "I understand your concerns. Perhaps all she just needs someone she can open up to, someone to listen who was not there when all of this happened."

Duncan rose then, finishing off his drink. "Thank you, my friend. I will send her to you this afternoon." Wynne nodded. "I will find you afterwards then." Reaching out, she squeezed his arm and asked, "There is no hope that Bryce or Ellie … or Bryallyn's young man …?"

Duncan shook his head slowly, clearly affected by the events. "Bryce was dying was we left, Wynne. Even if there had been a healing mage with us at the time, I highly doubt he would have survived. And Eleanor … Well, she vowed to guard him, to give us time to escape."

"And Bryallyn's husband?" Wynne queried.

Duncan sighed and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "There I do not know. He left earlier that afternoon aboard a ship bound for the Free Marches. Bry and Eleanor apparently overheard some of Rendon Howe's soldiers saying that Nathaniel would be disposed of as well, but beyond that … I simply have no answers, and Bryllyn has not spoken of it."

Wynne nodded. "And her brother is out on patrol in the Wilds as I understand it?"

Duncan nodded. "According to the king, yes."

Straightening, Wynne turned towards her cauldron to give it a quick stir. "Send her to me this afternoon, Duncan, and I will see what I can do. I am sure it is simply the stress from losing as much as she has so suddenly, so unexpectedly. But, if there is something more to it, we shall certainly find out."

With a final nod of thanks, Duncan signaled Constant to join him and they departed Wynne's work area, heading towards the Grey Warden Camp to hunt up Bernardo, Duncan's second in command.


	30. The Master of His Domain

Though his heavy-lidded glare caused more than one servant to scatter out of his way as he stalked the halls of Vigil's Keep, Rendon Howe scarcely noticed. They were beyond his contempt - a necessary evil, nothing more. They were there at his whim, to serve and service  _his_  needs, not he theirs.

So it was with (or without depending on your point of view) this in mind that the master of his domain made his way through the keep, ascended the stairs and found himself upon the battlements overlooking the courtyard below him. In the distance, he could see storm clouds building over the Waking Sea that were beginning to roll inland. Soon, he realized, they would be due for another of Amaranthine's famous storms.  _How fitting,_  he thought,  _for my current mood._

In his hand he held the first reports from activities at Highever and other locations. So far, things appeared to be going according to plan. The plan, when he had first conceived it, had been complicated enough. But then his eldest, the whelp of a boy who had given him nothing but irritation since the day he'd been born, had gone and complicated things even further by deciding to marry the Cousland bitch. Rendon's initial irritation had almost gotten the better of him then. But as he'd thought on it, he'd decided that it had given him the opportunity to plan things out in greater detail, to enlist more assistance, extend his reach that much farther ….

Thinking … planning … scheming …. Bringing, no … FORCING allies into compliance. All that was needed were veiled hints and threats, promises of retribution, assurances of favors ….

Rendon moved along the wall allowing the stone to guide his steps while he continued to read.  _Bryce Cousland is dead … Highever castle has been taken …._  "Hmpf," the arl chortled, his delight at the turn of events barely contained. "It's about damned time. That man has been a thorn in my side for decades …."

 _Prisoners are being sorted per your instructions. They should be on the way within the week._  Rendon glanced at the date of the letter, checked the mental calendar in his head. "Tomorrow or the next day perhaps," he murmured.  _Among them will be their priestess, one of their knights who was Captain of the Guards, and the Teyrna herself, though she has been badly wounded in the fight …._

Rendon paused his steps and reread the last bit, his mind rolling over the possibilities. For years he had been itching to get his hands on Eleanor. She had been the one woman he'd wanted who had flat out refused him …. "And all because of that interfering Orlesian bitch!*" he grumbled angrily, his eyes narrowing as the memories from thirty years past came flooding back.

Then almost as quickly, it faded. "Not to worry," he reminded himself. "She'll be mine now. No one can take that from me," he glanced at the missive once more and sighed. "As long as she survives the trip that is …."

He started walking again, this time taking note of a missive from one of his compatriots. "Ah, Bann Loren," he mused in some amusement, his thoughts drifting briefly back to their last conversation - the one in which Rendon had forced the man's hands. Breaking the seal, he murmured, "Let us see what you have to report."

_My Lord Howe -_

_I have been informed that the little problem in the Free Marches that had been plaguing you has now been dealt with most satisfactorily. It shall trouble you no further, my lord. I trust this meets with the requirements set forth in our agreement. When the time comes, trust that you shall have my full support in the Landsmeet._

_Bann Loren_

Rendon snorted softly in derision. "Miserable little coward," he muttered. He sighed then, one more born of weariness than anything else. "I suppose I shall have to wait to deal with you. Support is support, after all, and I will need all the support I can garner."

Shifting messages again, Rendon came upon another, this one less reluctant than the first but no less smarmy and ingratiating in its contents.

_My Lord Howe -_

_I am posting this message on the eve of battle to update you as hastily as possible. Though opportunities here at Ostagar have been few and far between since our arrival, my men were finally able to move out to intercept our target. However, it appears we have an unwitting ally in our midst as said target was dealt with by a band of darkspawn. My men lingered long enough to see the scouting party decimated before reporting back to me mere moments ago. As we go off to battle, I send this by pigeon post and trust it shall reach you. As for the other arrangement, I can simply say that as of three days ago when I last spoke to him, Teyrn Loghain has not yet changed his mind to the order of battle as we discussed. Maker willing, we shall meet up with you in Denerim as planned some two weeks hence._

_Coerlic_

Rendon paused his motions yet again.  _Coerlic … ambitious fool,_  he thought,  _though he may have his uses._

The one message he was awaiting, the one he was most impatient to receive, Rendon knew would be the one to take the longest to reach him. Devlyn Cashen. Rendon sighed at this. They boy had a way about him. "But so far in debt … I could use a man like you in my employ, my boy," he murmured into the air towards the Free Marches, "You're certainly taken by my Delilah … such a good girl, she'd do as her father told her … Hmpf … we shall have to wait and see. Should your dedication to duty prove to be -"

"Father?"

Rendon froze at the sound of his daughter's voice from behind him.  _Stupid useless chit!_  he raged silently.  _What are you doing up here … spying on me?_  "Yes, Delilah?" he queried, folding the messages and tucking them beneath his vest. He glanced up at the darkening skies as the first drops of cold rain began to fall. The storm was beginning to move inland. "You should not be out here, my dear," he chided as he moved to her side and placed an arm around her shoulder before leading her indoors. "You wouldn't want to take ill now, would you?"

Delilah blushed slightly. "No, Father. I only came because a messenger has arrived for you. One of Teyrn Loghain's men."

Rendon was pleased that he could pass as surprised in front of his daughter. "Really? I wonder what the man could possibly want from me?"

Delilah walked beside her sire as they descended to the main floor of the keep. She stopped and kissed his cheek briefly just before they reached the entryway. "I shall see you at supper then," she said softly before turning away.

Rendon saw the messenger a moment later, one whom he recognized. "Yes?"

"They Teyrn said to tell you 'It is time,' my lord."

Rendon chuckled feeling the warmth of power tightening in his gut.  _Yes, that extra year was put to good use indeed. Step one, complete … now on to step two …._  "Tell your lord I understand and shall obey his command."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Reference to "We Do What Must Be Done"


	31. Examination

After a lunch consisting mostly of Bryallyn watching Alistair wolf down copious amounts of food that he'd selected while she sat essentially just watching him inhale it, her stomach rebelling at the merest hint of digesting whatever the daily mystery meat was slathered in a congealed looking gravy; and then fighting back the urge to laugh in astonishment as the man asked if she was going to eat her own (at which point Bryallyn gave in to the inevitable and simply chewed on her slice of bread, pushing the plate in front of her towards her new friend), the duo headed back towards the Warden camp, Alistair pointing out various spots along the way. When they arrived, it was to find Duncan exiting his tent, Constant at his side. "Ah," he greeted the two, "I see you have found Alistair."

Bryallyn smiled slightly as Alistair laughed. "That she did, Duncan. I hope you don't mind that I took her to lunch first - wouldn't want her to faint away from hunger now, would we?"

Bryallyn choked back her laughter as her eyes landed upon an astonished Duncan. The older man too, she could tell, was struggling to hide his own amusement. If she were to guess, Bryallyn felt that his reaction indicated that he knew the full extent of Alistair's culinary capabilities. Bryallyn watched the Commander frown then, his visage darkening somewhat as he asked, "You're quite finished riling up mages then, are you?"

Alistair grinned. "What can I say? The revered mother ambushed me. the way she wields guilt they should stick her in the army."

Duncan's look darkened a bit more when the younger man did not seem to realize the import of his words right away. "She forced you to sass the mage, did she? We cannot afford to antagonize anyone, Alistair. We don't need to give anyone more ammunition against us."

The sudden change that overtook Alistair then was like the difference between night and day, Bryallyn thought. One moment the playful, amusing man she had met in the old chapel ruins, and the next a mortified and abashed young man with a slight reddening of his cheeks as he managed, "You're right, Duncan. I apologize."

There was a palpable tension there, one that even Bryallyn felt and was thinking she could assist with its removal, but before she could say a word it seemed to evaporate as Duncan continued. "We have much that needs to be accomplished yet today, so I will ask you Alistair to escort Bryallyn over to visit with Senior Enchanter Wynne before rounding up our last two recruits." Turning towards Bryallyn, he explained, "Enchanter Wynne is a healing mage, one of those sent from the Circle Tower to assist us here. I spoke with her earlier regarding your difficulties in our travels and she would like to see you this afternoon. If you do not mind."

Bryallyn glanced into his dark eyes and saw a concern there that she had not noted until just now. Nodding, she replied, "Of course, Duncan. I shall go at once. When I am finished?"

"Return here. By then we should have the others gathered and we can then move forward with our plans." Turning back to Alistair he added, "Once you have located Ser Jory and Daveth, bring them back here. I have some things I would like to go over with you as well before we move ahead with the next steps."

Alistair nodded and replied, "Of course, Duncan," before turning to face Bryallyn. Gesturing forward, he asked, "Shall we?"

Bryallyn smiled as she allowed him to lead her across the camp, pointing out other areas of interest that she had not yet inspected, confirming some that she had observed earlier while searching for him. When they reached the mages section of the camp, Bryallyn found herself a bit surprised when Alistair led her beyond the entrance and its two templar guards at a rather fast clip. Glancing up at him, she asked softly, "Is something wrong?"

Her words seemed to break through his concentration and he slowed down slightly, waiting for her to join him. "What? Oh, that … no, nothing other than I … well, when Duncan found me six months ago and recruited me, I was about to take my vows as a templar," he explained. Bryallyn saw him staring off into the distance as they walked, his mind clearly elsewhere. "Duncan was the first person to see that I wasn't happy there, that I didn't want to be a templar," he explained in a quiet voice. "He was also the first person who could do something about it."

Bryallyn found herself trying to follow this bit of narrative, but his words ended up making a strange sort of sense to her. "He recruited you then?"

Alistair chuckled. "Well, he had to use the Right of Conscription," he clarified. "The Revered Mother was not going to let me leave, though why she wanted me to remain confused me as I had made it quite clear by my … actions and behavior that I did not want to be a templar. Whatever the case, he conscripted me, and the rest, as they say, is history."

Bryallyn nodded in understanding. "I see," she told him, her thoughts drifting back to Duncan proposing the idea to her while on the road to Ostagar. She supposed she should count herself lucky that he had given her the option and not simply forced her hand.

"Ah, here we are," Alistair announced, guiding Bryallyn into a small enclosure. The first thing Bryallyn noticed was the bubbling cauldron on the far side of the space. From there, her eyes were caught by the nearby table lined with potions and poultices, and then the older woman who seemed to be working at a smaller table between the two, her back to them. "Ah," a gentle voice called, tossed casually over her shoulder as she reached for the edge of an apron she wore on which to wipe her hands. Turning towards them, the mage smiled and nodded. "Hello, Alistair," she greeted him.

Stepping across the space then, the woman reached out her hands and Bryallyn found herself offering hers back in return. "Ah my dear," the mage murmured, "you have grown into a very lovely young woman. Your parents must have been proud of you." Turning quickly towards Alistair, the mage assured him, "She is safe here with me, Alistair. Please tell Duncan I will guide her back to camp if necessary when we are through."

Bryallyn noticed her Warden companion blush slightly, but he nodded before turning to leave the two women. He obviously recognized the dismissal for what it was. Turning back towards Wynne, Bryallyn asked, "You knew my parents then?"

Bryallyn followed Wynne across to yet another table, the same one that Wynne and Duncan had sat at earlier. Nodding, the mage asked, "Would you like a cup of tea, dear? I will admit, one of my little vices upon leaving the Tower is the ability to find good quality tea from the quartermaster here." Bryallyn couldn't help a look of complete and utter amazement at the woman's words, a look that Wynne apparently noticed as she added, "By relative comparison, you understand. The tea here is not nearly as horrid as the stuff they claim with the same title back at the Circle."

For the first time in a long while, Bryallyn found herself chuckling. It never failed to amaze her, no matter the people she met over the years, it was inevitable that someone would complain about their tea or coffee back home, and that the solution to all that ailed them was in what could be found in camp. "I would like that, yes please," she agreed easily. She sat back to watch the older woman as Wynne began answering her previous question.

"I met your parents a long time ago, once and in Denerim during a Landsmeet. I believe at the time you were just a youngster, more interested in chasing rabbits or playing with your brother as I recall." Wynne set a mug of the warm drink before Bryallyn then. Taking a seat across from Bryallyn, the mage added, "I do remember speaking with your parents about you then." Reaching out and placing a hand on top of Bryallyn's forearm, Wynne squeezed gently and added kindly, "I am so sorry for your loss my dear. Your parents were wonderful people who did not deserve such a fate."

Bryallyn found that she could only nod in response as she felt her chest tighten.  _I must get used to this_ , she realized. "I - thank you, Wynne," she finally managed.

"I hope you do not mind me saying, Duncan came to me this morning in some concern regarding your current condition." Wynne gave the younger woman a knowing look. "He said that you had been finding yourself ill during your travels?"

Bryallyn nodded, closing her eyes tight to stave off tears. "Wynne," she finally gasped, "I-I lost more than … just my parents. My brother's wife and son … and, I believe, my own husband … All of us were targets. I think I may be the only one yet alive …."

The look of shock that crossed Wynne's face told Bryallyn that the woman had not heard all of the details. Given the king's reaction upon their arrival, this did not surprise Bryallyn in the least. Covering her face with her hands, she muttered, "Fergus' wife and son were murdered in cold blood. I saw them, Wynne. Now I have to tell him …. Just as I have to tell him that it was my father-in-law who was responsible for their deaths!"

The moment the first sob escaped her lips, Bryallyn felt a strong arm slide around her shoulders, turning her, offering her a shoulder to cry upon. Bryallyn knew it was Wynne, but it was so similar to actions her mother had taken in the past that it triggered an even deeper emotional response.

"There, there, child," Wynne murmured gently, her arms surrounding Bryallyn as she gently rocked the younger woman back and forth in soothing motions.

"And … Nathaniel," Bryallyn gasped, the agony she had been trying to keep back, buried deep and far away so as not to give it purchase in reality finally breaking free, "... Rendon Howe … killed his own son too!" Bryallyn glanced up at Wynne. "I've lost my entire family because of one odious man!"

Wynne continued to murmur soothingly, her rocking motions seeming to help ease the grief from the younger woman. But this served a second purpose as well. As she held Bryallyn, she allowed her healing magic to reach out, to interpret, to diagnose ….

Bryallyn felt a warmth of magical energy suffuse her, spreading beneath her skin, sending a wave of calm and comfort through her. Finally, after a long, harsh sigh, Bryallyn's sobs ceased, and she sat beside the mage trying to calm her breathing pattern. "I … I'm sorry …," she whispered.

Wynne chuckled sadly. "Nonsense, child," she said reassuringly. "There is nothing to apologize for. You have lost a great deal, this is true. Most people in your position would simply give up, quit, let the world move on beyond them while they drowned their sorrows in the past. But, according to Duncan, you have … chosen to become a Warden?"

Bryallyn swallowed hard before taking a sip of her tea, allowing the soothing properties of the drink to work on her. Nodding, she explained, "I have … nothing left. Nothing but Fergus that I know of, at this point. I was raised to know that no matter what, I was always to do my duty." Taking a deep breath, Bryallyn looked over at the mage. "Couslands always do their duty," she added. She saw Wynne nod as she rose to her feet and crossed to her work table. A moment of insecurity washed through Bryallyn then for some reason she could not define. "Do you think I am wrong?" she asked hesitantly.

Wynne was silent until she returned a few moments later, several small vials in her hands along with a special pack to carry them. "Not at all, dear," she replied, though her gaze would not meet Bryallyn's directly while she placed the vials in the wrappings that would keep them from breaking. "I think you are a grieving young woman who is searching for purpose, however, and that a period of grieving might be in order before you make such a life changing decision; but I am just a mage," she concluded. With a gentle smile she finally looked back at Bryallyn. "What do I know?"

Bryallyn thought to say something, to challenge that assessment, but she bit her lip instead, deciding to keep her own counsel. Nodding at the wrapped package, she asked, "What - what is that?"

Wynne's smile broadened. "This, my dear, is your salvation shall we say?" Bryallyn frowned and heard the mage chuckle. "Well, all right then. If not your salvation, your … relief perhaps? Your illness is caused by stress, child," she explained. "I expect that this will continue for some time yet until you learn to deal with your losses. What I can do is this: I have a healing spell, one that will help your body deal with the effects of your stress - the sleeplessness, the physical illness, as well as any others that might crop up after a while. These," she lifted the package, "are potions that will extend that spell for as long as necessary. Each one will lengthen the spell for a month."

Bryallyn blinked at the woman's words penetrated her brain. "Stress?" she breathed. "This is all caused by …," her hand reached out then to rest on Wynne's. "Oh thank the Maker! I was beginning to think it was something much more serious!"

Wynne smiled again and patted Bryallyn's hand. "Nonsense, dear. You will be fine in a relatively short amount of time if you would simply allow yourself to grieve. I know you have lost a lot," she looked directly at Bryallyn then, "but you have a future. You survived for a reason. Do not ever forget that."

Bryallyn was a bit surprised at the intensity of the woman's gaze, but she nodded and took the offered pack of vials. "I won't promise that it will be easy," she replied softly, "but I will promise that I will try."

With a final pat, Wynne rose to her feet and rounded the table to Bryallyn's side. "That is all I would ask at this point. You will find your focus again, Bryallyn, never fear. Life is a process sometimes. To get from one point to the next, you follow the path, but sometimes there are side trips in the process. Just do not lose focus on the main goal and you will be fine."

Bryallyn smiled sadly as they left the enclosure together and turned back towards Duncan's camp. "My mother used to say that," she murmured. "Or at least, something very like it."

"Your mother was a wise woman, child. I think you may be very much like her."

As they walked, Bryallyn felt her mind begin to ease while in the presence of the mage. For the first time since her flight from Highever, she was beginning to find some peace.


	32. Tempting Fate

The two women walked at a casual pace, taking their time to cross the large camp, both speaking on inconsequential things and purposefully ignoring the more poignant ones. To all who watched, it looked as if a mother and daughter, or granddaughter even, walked by conversing. As they reached the Warden encampment, Wynne approached Duncan as well, seeing him turn and hearing him greet Bryallyn, "Ah, there you are. Your timing could not have been better."

Wynne watched carefully as the Warden Commander turned towards them while asking, "All is well then?" She nodded slightly, and returned carefully, "All is well, Duncan. However, the poultices and potions that you requested will require a bit of additional time and some assistance to bring them to you. If you would be so kind as to send someone over …?"

Wynne held his look for a long moment until she saw him nod. He then assured her, "As soon as I have completed the briefing here, I will come, Wynne. Thank you."

Nodding, and with one final smile at Bryallyn, Wynne turned to leave them then. As she walked back towards her work area, she decided to take the long way around, needing the time to consider, analyze, decide. For, while what she had told Bryallyn was the truth, it was not the entire truth. The rest, well that would have to be discussed with Duncan before she even thought of approaching the young Warden recruit. Wandering through the infirmary, Wynne paused briefly to see if her healing powers were required of the staff there, and assured that there was no immediate need, Wynne continued on. She passed the quartermaster without stopping, wandering down the pathway by a Chantry priestess blessing soldiers as they wished. Finally, she arrived back at her little niche.

The first thing she did was put a kettle to boil. This occurred quite quickly, and within a short time, she had poured herself a relaxing mixture containing both chamomile and lavender. She then took a seat at her table and waited.

Duncan arrived some short time later, Constant at his side as before. As he sat, Wynne rose silently, automatically moving to make him the drink as well. When she handed the cup to him and retook her seat, she heard him ask, "There's something more to this, isn't there, Wynne?"

Wynne rested her elbows on the table, holding her cup between long, slender fingers. She stared at her hands a moment.  _So much power, so much strength … and there is nothing I can do about this …._  "Yes, Duncan," she murmured. "There is much more to this." Lifting her gaze to the Commander, she held his look and added, "I cannot in good conscience allow Bryallyn Cousland-Howe to go through with the Joining."

Duncan lowered his eyes to look at his hands. "I was afraid you would say that," he admitted quietly. "May I know the reason? She has given her word, and you know how desperate we are for Wardens, Wynne."

The mage held her tongue for a moment, sorting through her thoughts as she searched for a way to explain. Reaching out at last, she settled her hand against one of his and squeezed gently. "Duncan, the poor thing has been through so much already, and she does not even know …"

Duncan looked back up at her then, a question in his dark eyes and Wynne nodded slowly. "She's pregnant, Duncan. You can't take that away from her - the child is not only her husband's, but the Cousland heir after her!" She gave Duncan a hard look. "Can you honestly make her go through the Joining when you and I both know what would happen to the child if she does?"

Wynne rose then, started pacing around. "Duncan, I must vehemently protest this course of action!"

She watched the man sit there, absorbing the information. She understood his position. Maker knew that the number of Wardens in Ferelden was minimal, and though she did not understand why exactly, she did know that Wardens were a necessity to defeat this .. if it was a true Blight. As a senior mage, Wynne had been on hand to assist Duncan with the preparations for the Joining on many an occasion. She was sworn to secrecy by an oath, one that she agreed with and respected. And, unfortunately, given Bryallyn's agreement to become a Warden and the request by Duncan for the mage to examine the girl, Wynne also felt bound by the oath to remain silent. It would be Duncan's decision as to where to go next. She just prayed he would make the right choice...

* * *

As he walked back to the Warden camp, Duncan could not help but feel conflicted.  _Do I tell her? Don't I? We need Wardens in Ferelden so desperately …. If I tell her, will she bolt? Will I be forced to … protect the order? Or will she make the right call?_  He sighed as he took a seat on a log near Constant who had been lying near his tent. Reaching for the iron kettle, he set it into the flame and started it to boil. Then ducking into his tent for a moment, he returned with his paperwork.  _Might as well get caught up while they are out in the Wilds._

But as he sat there again, drinking tea, doing the paperwork necessary, to keep any organization running smoothly, he found his thoughts drifting again.  _Bryce Cousland was a friend … a good friend. Can I simply let his daughter sacrifice the only thing she has left because of the needs of our country?_ He gazed deeply into the fire, his eyes transfixed by the roaring flame.

A soft huffing next to him had Duncan looking down at the mabari a moment or two later. "And your opinion, my friend? What do you think of this situation?" He didn't necessarily expect an answer, or if there was one the Warden thought it might be less than complete as the dog had bonded with Bryallyn, so it was with some degree of surprise that he found himself nearly eye to eye with the hound as Constant jumped to his feet and barked once, sharply. Giving Duncan a look that was part plea and part worry, Duncan surprisingly found himself understanding the message. Chuckling, he reached a hand out to pat the animal's head. "I think I understand," he replied. "I will speak with her when she returns. Will that be satisfactory?" Duncan found himself smiling at the hound's single bark response in the affirmative.

Darkness was settling for the evening when Duncan finally saw the foursome approaching. He called them over to the fire, debriefed them and then allowed them to go get a meal before moving on to the next phase. Before the recruits and Alistair had left however, he called both Bryallyn and Alistair over. Turning towards his fellow Warden, Duncan said, "Alistair, when they are finished eating, take them to the old temple. We'll proceed with the Joining tonight." Alistair nodded and followed off after Ser Jory and Daveth.

Then turning towards Bryallyn, he gestured her over in the direction of the ruins behind the royal tents. Earlier in the day they had been the site for training. Now they were silent and abandoned. As the duo walked, Duncan led Bryallyn down towards the ruins of an old spire, the walls now crumbled, and the view to the mountains and valleys below open to all. "I need to speak with you," he began quietly as they stood looking out at the vista before them, "regarding something … personal."

Turning, he saw a flicker of emotions pass over her face, and it took him a moment to finally realize what his words might have sounded like. Sighing, he reached out and grasped her shoulder with his hand. "No," he reassured her quickly, "there is no news of you brother. I apologize if that is what it sounded like." Beneath his hand, he felt the tension in her small frame recede as she relaxed. "But this is no less important."

She looked at him long and hard for a moment. "Go ahead," she murmured softly. "I am ready."

Removing his hand, she turned back to take in the scenery.  _To hide from her reaction, you mean_ , he scolded himself. "Some of what I am about to tell you can never be repeated," he said quietly. "I need your word on that. By rights, I should not even be telling you this before the Joining, but there are some circumstances that have come into play …."

He glanced over at her for a moment, saw her nod once, firmly, and for the briefest of moments he was reminded of his good friend, Bryce Cousland. "While you were out in the Wilds today, I spoke with Wynne regarding your condition." Again he saw her nod. "Apparently, she has more concerns regarding it than can be explained away by stress. This may cause a problem concerning your intention to become a Warden."

He saw the girl frown, her eyes narrowing as she took in the information. "Is there something else wrong?" she asked.

He nodded. "Wynne has informed me that you are pregnant," he announced.

* * *

Bryallyn stood there, shock freezing her body for a moment.  _Pregnant? But …. Oh!_  Her gasp was quiet, but still audible, and she saw him look over at her. Unconsciously, her right hand settled to rest over her flat belly as her thoughts drifted and her eyes filled with tears.  _Oh, Nathaniel! I still have a part of you!_

And then the cold truth of his words washed over her. Staring intently up at Duncan, she asked, "How does this cause a problem, exactly?"

"The Joining is a ritual," he explained. "One in which you will need to ingest a concoction," she noted he looked uncomfortable at use of this word and wondered just what the concoction was, "which will then either assist you in becoming a Warden, or …."

Bryallyn watched his eyes closely as his voice trailed off. "Or?" she asked.

She thought she could hear him sigh, and he certainly seemed reluctant in what he was trying to not tell her. "Or you will die."

Bryallyn swallowed, though she found was not surprised by his words. Why, she could not say, but it seemed … inevitable? "I see." She remained silent for a moment, evaluating this news, and he respected it by doing the same. After a time, however, she finally spoke up and asked, "I should assume, then, that if this is the case for myself then, by extension, it will be for the child as well?"

She didn't need to see him nod in response; she just knew. Sighing she leaned against a partially fallen wall separating the safer inner portion of the ruins from the gaping chasm below on the other side. "So, are you asking me if I still want to become a Warden then?"

"You are in a unique position," he told her sincerely, "of being the first person - woman - attempting to join the Grey Wardens that I've heard of in this situation. Seeing as you offered yourself for service voluntarily, I cannot help but offer you a chance to change your decision. Though we are desperate at this time for Wardens, I will not force the issue in this situation."

Bryallyn blinked, her eyes lifting to his. "You … you would do that?" she asked quietly.

Duncan nodded. "Bryallyn, your father was a good friend of mine. His loss deeply saddens me. I realize also that you may be the only Cousland left. With the child you now carry, that changes things. Though Wardens do what is necessary to get the job done, I cannot find it in myself to put you and your child at risk unnecessarily."

"If you know my father, Duncan, as you claim, then you know that Couslands are raised to do their duty at all times." She saw him nod. When she opened her mouth to speak again, he raised his hand and interrupted her. "Go speak to Wynne again," he advised gently. "She is in a position to know exactly what it is to become a Grey Warden, and she might have something to tell you which could assist you in your decision making process."

Bryallyn nodded a bit absently, her head spinning with the news. "When do you need my decision?" she asked.

"Within the hour, I'm afraid."

Bryallyn nodded and turned. "Thank you, Duncan. Thank you for allowing me to make this choice. I will go speak to Wynne now." So saying, she turned and left him there, wandering her way through the camp and towards the mages section. She found Wynne where she had been before, the small work area nice and tidy as it had ever been. "Wynne?" she called softly as she stepped inside the space.

The mage turned to face her, a sympathetic smile upon her face. Crossing to greet Bryallyn, the younger woman soon found herself sobbing and holding onto the mage. "Wynne," she breathed, "is it true? Am I pregnant?"

Wynne nodded as she led Bryallyn over to the table to sit. "Yes, child, it is. I hope you forgive me for not telling you sooner, but I felt it necessary to discuss with Duncan first."

Bryallyn nodded. "I - I understand," she replied quietly as she sat. She turned then to the older woman and asked, "Is there  _any_ thing that can be done to save it? I … I have to honor the promise I made to Duncan, Wynne," she whispered. "I can't go back on it! Couslands always do their duty, and the duty now is to help Ferelden. You know that old saying? 'The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.' My father raised us on that."

She saw Wynne sit beside her, placing an arm around her shoulder again and hugging her close. "I cannot tell you, child, what exactly will happen with the Joining, I think you know this." Bryallyn nodded against Wynne's shoulder. "But what I can tell you is this: I know of a spell, an old spell - a spell or protection charm used by the Tevinter magi. During my travels, I had an opportunity to study outside of the circle and if a mage is crafty," she winked, "we pick up a few tricks along the way." She sighed, "Ah child, while I can not promise this will work, if you are determined to do your duty; this may give the babe a fighting chance if you...," She trailed her last thoughts.

"Are there risks to the baby?" Bryallyn asked.

"No, dear. It will do no harm to the child itself. It will protect it from … the side effects of the Joining. It is a spell that will need to be recast periodically - about every six weeks or so - and you would need to have a mage with you who knows it." Wynne gave Bryallyn a gentle squeeze before rising to her feet. "I understand you wanting to do your duty, but are you certain this is a wise choice? For you, for the child … for your husband?"

Bryallyn closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands for a moment. "I have no reason to believe Nathaniel survived," she whispered.

"You have no reason to believe that he hasn't either," Wynne reminded her firmly.

Bryallyn sighed heavily, torn.  _Do I choose based on hope, or based on what I know?_ "Wynne, please understand, the way that I was raised, the things I believe - The Blight and stopping it is what matters now." She lowered her hand to rest on her stomach. "Do not misunderstand me - I want my child, desperately, if only because it may be all I have left of my husband. But there are things bigger than me, than the child, than all of … this," she spread her hands out to encompass the entire camp at Ostagar. "We must stop The Blight, and I am in a position to help with that. I would not be my father's daughter if I didn't."

She felt Wynne's eyes upon her and turned to face the older woman. "I have to go with what I know, Wynne," she explained. "If you can perform this spell, I will keep my word to Duncan and go through with the Joining."

Wynne nodded, reaching out to pat Bryallyn's hand. "I understand. I simply wanted to be certain you were making an informed decision." Smiling warmly, she added, "You are most definitely your father's daughter, Bryallyn, and I am sure he would be very proud of you."

Wiping her eyes, Bryallyn stood then, turning towards the mage. "I hope so, Wynne, I really do," she managed after a moment. "Now, shall we do this spell so that I can go meet Duncan and the others in time for the ritual?"


	33. Making Plans

They spent several days at the remains of the keep, scavenging what they could - armor, weapons, supplies - searching for anything that might be of assistance, worthy of trade, or small keepsakes that would help them through the rougher times that were sure to come. This last, Nathaniel knew, was mostly for Rhyan's benefit, but as they had to stay for the rest anyway, he did not mind. It was during this time that first he, and then they as a team, also began making plans for their return to Ferelden.

Nathaniel was insistent upon returning to Highever as their first destination. He and Trinion spent an afternoon searching the ruins of Doran Antell's library and managed to recover several maps, including one that showed the northern coastline of Ferelden. Accepting that they would have to depart out of Kirkwall, from there they had several destination possibilities. The problem was in deciding their priorities which in turn would determine their route.

Later that afternoon, Nathaniel pulled both Trinion and Rhyan into a discussion regarding this very topic. Laying the map out on the table before them, it was the Highever man who spoke first. "My lord, I think we can safely assume that, if he was successful, your father will now have control of the entire northern area of Ferelden," Trinion said as he used his finger to draw a line from Amaranthine along west towards Highever. "Unfortunately, given the number of troops that Teyrn Cousland sent south to Ostagar with Lord Fergus, I'm afraid that those remaining will have been woefully unprepared and outnumbered to defend against the Amaranthine troops that would have attacked."

Nathaniel closed his eyes for a long moment, but nodded his agreement with the assessment. "I have no reason to doubt that," he replied. "So the question becomes, if this is indeed the case, which port do we sail to? West Hill, Highever or Amaranthine?" Nathaniel pointed to each spot on the map. "Knowing my father, once he has secured Highever, he will return to Amaranthine, leaving his most trusted officers in charge. I would suggest because of this, as well as the fact that it is the furthest port from Kirkwall, that we do not head to Amaranthine."

Trinion nodded. "I agree."

Rhyan eyed the map closely, surveying the distances between West Hill and Highever. "Not having been to Ferelden in many years," she announced in a quiet voice, "please feel free to correct me if I am wrong, but I would suggest we sail to here," she pointed to West Hill. "If your father has indeed taken Highever, we would run into immediate opposition upon arrival. I would imagine he would have people in place to note the comings and goings of all who enter through the port."

She pointed towards West Hill again. "This is the old fortress, yes?" Nathaniel and Trinion both nodded. "I would think it doubtful, since it has been abandoned for so long, that Rendon Howe would have men stationed there. And, even should he, it would be a minimal force. His thoughts will be about consolidation of power, getting a firm grip on the people of Highever so that his rule will be effective, not about abandoned fortresses and small hamlets and the like."

She stared at the map a moment longer, then trailed her finger in a line from Highever south. "My thought is we sail for here," she pointed the area marked West Hill, "and then approach Highever. It will give us time to evaluate the territory and conditions as well, particularly since if we go through with this we may have to split up into at least two groups to be less noticeable."

Nathaniel nodded, but otherwise remained silent. He glanced out of the corner of his eye then, noting that Trinion was nodding his approval as well. "Good," he finally murmured, reaching out to retrieve the map and store it once more. He intended to bring it with them on their journey along with several others they had discovered during their earlier hunt. "We have a plan then. Tomorrow we will leave for Kirkwall to find passage back." He looked up at Trinion and Rhyan. "I will not deny the idea that we should recruit more soldiers to help us in our cause," he added in a serious tone, "but I do not dare risk the chance right now that we end up with some lackey of my father's who has either voluntarily hung around for that specific purpose or has been ordered to do so. For now, it will be the eight of us. Is that clear?" Both agreed and then left Nathaniel as he turned towards his pack and other belongings.

As he worked his way through, adjusting the items he was keeping and leaving behind, he came upon a small portfolio designed to carry communications and writing supplies. Trinion had come upon it as they searched Doran Antell's study and had given it to Rhyan. After examining it in some detail, in which both Trinion and Nathaniel had removed to the other side of the room to give her privacy, Rhyan had approached and handed it to Nathaniel. "I believe you need to see these," was all she said before turning to depart. At the time, Nathaniel simply nodded and tucked it away, but he had noticed a change in the young woman's demeanor. Now, he took the folder and moved near a window so he would have light enough by which to read. Inside he found two letters which he pulled out, resting them atop the folio as he read.

_(date is obscured by water stains)_

_Lord Antell:_

_It is with the expressed interest, advice and endorsement of Teyrn Bryce Cousland that I write and ask your consideration of my son Nathaniel to join your ranks for the remainder of his instruction. He has, my lord, been with Arl Leonidas Bryland for many years, and recently returned from his training there. Before such time as he is to be made a knight in my service, I would seek further training for him. To that end, Teyrn Cousland, with full knowledge of Nathaniel's natural instincts and combat abilities, has recommended you and your shadow rogues as suitable extension to my son's current capabilities. I eagerly await your response, and hope that our alliance may prove to be most agreeable._

_With sincerest respect,_

_Rendon Howe_

Nathaniel lifted his brow at this. The memories of that time in his mind were very different from what the letter indicated. As far as he knew, his father had made the arrangements with Antell due to Nathaniel's loss in his and Bryallyn's archery competition at the palace, not because of the end of his service with Arl Bryland. He could still picture Rendon Howe's displeasure after that particular bout, his disgust that his son not only had lost to a woman, but a Cousland. Nathaniel had ignored the tirade though, being used to his father's behavior by then. Had he missed something else as well?

Turning his attention to the second letter, he began reading again.

_17 Harvestmere, 9:29_

_Vigil's Keep, Amaranthine_

_Lord Antell,_

_I wish you to know that your appalling attitude of openly colluding with the Orlesians alongside Teyrn Cousland, both concerns and dismays me. I sent my son to you in good faith to train, to learn and to become worthy of being a knight, only to find out that not only are you and Bryce in collusion with the Orlesians, but have even managed to turn my own son against me - my heir even - in your persuasions. Do not believe for one moment that this shall go without protest or retribution. Your traitorous nature shall be brought under control by any means necessary. I shall also endeavor to find some way to make certain your influence and control over other members of the Ferelden nobility will no longer be as prevalent. Be warned, Antell, your influence over those who are in positions of power in Ferelden as well as those who govern shall not prevail._

_Arl Rendon Howe_

Nathaniel reread the letter three times wondering each time if he had not misread it. Why would his father think this? Why would he make up such falsehoods and risk an international incident? What could he possibly hope to gain by such behavior…? Staring out the window in front of him, Nathaniel pondered these questions until he came to the realization that he didn't even understand his father's thought process. How could he in two years go from praising the man and his abilities in training men to accusing him of … collusion? conspiracy? And to bring Bryallyn's family - Bryallyn and himself even - into this as well?

 _Dev said as much,_  he recalled suddenly.  _Something about a connection to the Orlesians … but … how? When? Why? I never saw evidence of anything! It makes no sense. There is no reason for Father or Dev to lie about that … is there?_  Nathaniel frowned, his eyes narrowing as he stared out at the darkening sky. He thought back to that last conversation with Devlyn, aboard ship.  _He wants it all … and he has support from above …._

Staring down at the two missives he still held, Nathaniel returned them to the folio and secured them in his pack. These he would have to hold on to until such a time as he could confront his father … or worse.  _Lies … murder … what is he after?_

As Trinion stepped back into the room then, turning towards Nathaniel with a purposeful stride, it suddenly dawned on Nathaniel that the reasons didn't matter at all. The mounting proof of his father's misdeeds was all that would be necessary to find him guilty. And, though there was a part of him that did not want to believe that his father could have done this (who would ever want to believe someone willingly wanting to do such a thing?), Nathaniel knew it was too late to believe anything but what was directly in front of him. Sighing with reluctant acceptance, he nodded his acknowledgement at Trinion and secured the letters in his pack before moving to join the older man once more.


	34. Into the Belly of the Beast

They left the Antell estate before sunrise and made good time. They were prepared for trouble should any occur, but the journey to Kirkwall was uneventful. Before they entered the city, however, Nathaniel pulled Rhyan and Trinion aside. "I think it will serve our purposes best if we enter the city in two groups," he explained. "On the off chance that my father does have spies still here, we would be wise to use extreme caution."

Trinion was immediate in his agreement. "We cannot afford to underestimate him at this point. Not if we wish to be successful with our plans."

Rhyan looked over at Nathaniel. "How you propose to do this then?"

"I will go with you and your men, Rhy," he told her. "There may still be people who might recognize me from my time here in service to Lord Antell. If so, seeing us together will be …more normal than seeing me with Trinion and Highever's men." He turned towards Trinion. "When you have entered, head first to the Hightown market district and restock our supplies as best you can. If you have any trouble locating anything, try the Lowtown markets. Rhy and I will head to the docks to see what we can find for passage, preferably leaving tonight or first thing in the morning. I don't want to have to wait over long here."

"Yes, my lord," Trinion replied. "Shall we meet in one of the market districts when we're through? We can compare information and make our final decision from there."

Rhyan spoke quietly. "There is a tavern in Lowtown called  _The Hanged Man_. It's a well known establishment, frequented by all types of individuals. I think we could blend in well there. We might also be lucky enough to obtain rooms for the night if necessary."

Nathaniel nodded. Looking at Trinion, he saw the Highever guard as he nodded. "I remember the place," he acknowledged. He gave Nathaniel a long look before turning away and adding, "I will see you there, my lord. May the Maker guide your steps."

Nathaniel chuckled as the other man left.  _Subtle, Trinion, very subtle_.

"Tell me again how you joined forces with that man?" Rhyan muttered.

Nathaniel frowned. "Rhy, my father-in-law sent them with me - and it's a damned good thing he did or I'd be dead already by Dev's hand."

Rhyan sighed. "I know, I know," she replied.

They started towards the docks then, Nathaniel leading the way and Rhyan remaining by his side. After come careful observation they determined six possible ships that might work for their needs. From that point, Nathaniel led Rhyan to each of the ships individually, both working in tandem to question the captains and determine which met their needs. Several hours after they began, Nathaniel and Rhyan turned towards Lowtown and began heading to  _The Hanged Man_. Once they reached the district, Nathaniel and Rhyan headed to the tavern while Rhyan's men went off to stock up on their own supplies, agreeing to meet back at the tavern later that evening so that a final decision could be made as well as final preparations for departure.

They found Trinion seated in a dark corner, Grayson beside him. Both men were speaking quietly, drinks beside them. Nathaniel did not see Nyles or Padraig nearby, but that did not mean they were not. Looking down at Rhyan, he tilted his head slightly in their direction, indicating she should go over to sit before he stepped away to head to the bar. A few moments later, he was taking a seat with them, sliding a mug of ale towards Rhyan as he did. "Business successfully concluded?" he asked.

Trinion nodded. "And yours?"

Nathaniel took a long pull from his ale as he sat back. He looked for all the world a man relaxing after a long, hard day at work, but his companions knew better. Rhyan remembered from their time together as squires, and Trinion and the other Highever men were still learning that Nathaniel Howe was a man of deception when necessary.

"We have two options," Nathaniel finally sat forward to explain. Over the course of the next half hour, he and Rhyan recounted their time at the docks, the options available. "I am of the mind we depart tonight," he concluded. "I do not wish to remain here overlong … After all that has happened, my instincts are screaming that there were men left behind. The longer we remain, the greater the chance something goes wrong."

Both Trinion and Rhyan agreed, though Nathaniel suspected that they would have despite his arguments. Nathaniel reached for the pouch at his waist and silently handed it over to Grayson. "You know the location of the ship?"

Grayson nodded. He'd been listening closely as they had talked, taking mental note of everything that was said. It didn't hurt either that he'd spent time earlier in the afternoon exploring the docks once completed with his errands. "Yes, my lord," he replied quietly.

Nodding, Nathaniel told him, "Passage for eight then, best terms you can arrange." He saw Grayson smile at Trinion before downing the remainder of his drink and rising to leave. "I will be back shortly," the guard promised.

Before Nathaniel could question Trinion, the slender frame of one of the serving wenches leaned in to replace their drinks with fresh ones. "Can I get you lot anything else?" she queried. All three shook their head and she soon turned to leave.

Nathaniel glanced at Trinion then and lifted a brow slightly in question, though his eyes followed after the wench for a moment. After she disappeared behind the bar, he turned back and asked, "Something I should know about?"

The guard captain chuckled. "Grayson is our … negotiator," he explained as he took a long drink. "He will get you the best deal there is to be had."

Nathaniel nodded and took another drink. And, despite all of the concern regarding what they might find upon their return to Highever, he did manage a small rumble of laughter. "That could come in handy," he commented after a time.

They were still at the table when Grayson returned. As the man sat, he set the coin pouch upon the table and pushed it back towards Nathaniel. Nathaniel nodded, lifting the bag and felt his eyes widen in surprise at how heavy it remained. Looking over at the rogue, he murmured, "Nicely done," before pocketing the rest.

Grayson simply nodded. "We are to be there in two hours time," he explained. "We will leave with the tide this evening."

Nathaniel drained the last of his ale, noting that Rhyan and Trinion did the same. "Right then. Let's find the others and get ourselves organized."

* * *

He sat in the dark corner, a mug of ale in one hand, a pretty serving wench on his lap. It was a familiar scene, one he had been developing for some time (and one in which the pretty wench was paid handsomely to cooperate) as he waited for a sign. His assignment was simple, and one that was best accomplished in an easy, open manner such as this. No one would even begin to suspect what he was about.

His sign finally arrived that evening.

As his eyes followed the foursome, he continued his charade. Four had come in originally, then two more. He had not seen any leave until that moment. Patience kept him from making a mistake. A quarter of an hour after the first group left, two more followed.  _All present and accounted for_ , he thought.

"The docks, you said?" he asked her once more as he nuzzled her neck.

She giggled softly, but nodded. "Yes. I heard the captain's name mentioned. He runs a ship,  _Queen of the Seas_ , and is set to depart this evening."

Gently removing her from his lap, he set her upon her feet and rose. Pulling some coins from his pocket, he placed them in her hand and closed her fingers around them. "A little something extra for your assistance," he told her with a quick kiss to her cheek.

She gave him a quick look, a wistful smile crossing her face. "You are leaving then?"

He nodded. "Sadly, my business takes me elsewhere." Lifting her hand and kissing the back of it, he added, "Until next time, cherie."

She pocketed the coin as she watched him leaving the tavern, easily slipping into the dark. Her thoughts trailing after him for just a moment, wondering about him … until the shout from a nearby table caught her attention. Sighing, she turned and called back, "Don't let your knickers get in a twist! I'll be there in a moment!"

* * *

The third day out at sea found Nathaniel topside and staring out over the deck at the rolling seas. The weather was choppy and rough, and the ship was being jostled about quite a bit. Throughout it all, Nathaniel was trying his damnedest to keep his thoughts from trailing to the inevitable: the loss of his bride and her family at the hands of his father. However, the more time he spent below deck, the more he realized that it was a futile effort. He knew not what he would find when they arrived in Highever, but deep down, he knew it would not be good. All he could hope, vain though it might be, was that somehow his message had made it to Bryallyn and the Couslands before his father had attacked the castle … or that somehow, for whatever reason, Devlyn had been lying.

"You are setting your hopes up only to have them dashed," Rhyan said softly as she joined him at the rail.

"I can't give up on her or her family," Nathaniel replied. "If there is even the slightest chance that they are safe, I have to believe in it."

They stood in silence for a time, each to their own thoughts. "I'm sorry about Dev," Nathaniel finally told her quietly. "I know you and he …."

Rhyan snorted. "Dev was his own man," she told him. "There was never anything more between us than friendship. Am I disappointed that he chose as he did? Yes. Do I believe he was used as a pawn by your father? Again, yes." She pulled her gaze in and turned to face Nathaniel. "Your father has a lot to answer for, I will tell you that now."

"Of that I have no doubt," Nathaniel replied. He stood there thinking about Dev for the longest moment. He could not understand the other man's drive: why had he done it? Surely there had to be reasons other than for Delilah's hand in marriage or paying off gambling debts. Was his father more involved than he'd first thought?

He felt Rhyan's eyes upon him as he continued to watch the seas. "I know what you are thinking, Rhy," he said quietly.

She chuckled. "Do you really?" she returned.

Turning, Nathaniel placed his arms across his chest and looked down at her. "You are wondering if I can do this; go after my father and make him pay for his crimes." He saw the surprise in her eyes and knew he'd hit home. "The answer is yes. We may be related by blood, but he is no father to me. Not any longer." Sighing, he scrubbed his hands over his face. "I don't expect you to understand it, Rhy, but the moment he pulled Bryallyn and her family into his planning is the moment he forfeited any connection to me."

Nathaniel straightened then and gestured towards the path leading to the doorway below deck. They were nearing the entryway, just turning to enter when Nathaniel felt a heavy weight against him. Turning to his left, he both braced himself and reached out to help catch the person falling against him which, given the current state of rough seas, was not surprising. "My pardons," the man mumbled as he righted himself.

"Not at all," Nathaniel replied before turning his attention back to Rhyan and leading her to relative safety from the elements below.

* * *

He watched the couple depart through the doorway before turning and walking down the deck towards the bow. He laughed silently to himself. That had been all too easy and reminded him just a bit of the days of his youth spent picking pockets and causing mischief. He wondered how long it would take the younger man before he noticed the addition to the contents of his pocket ….


	35. Brothers and Sisters

_The waiting is always the hardest part_ , Bryallyn thought as she glanced over at Alistair. They, Daveth and Ser Jory were waiting in the old temple, part of the extensive ruins to be found at Ostagar, for Duncan to arrive and lead them through the Joining ritual. Though not inclined to be in a chatty mood, Bryallyn discovered that Jory was more than up to compensating for her reticence.

"The more I hear about this joining the less I like it," the knight of Redcliffe was saying. Bryallyn was doing her best not to openly cringe at the man's comments, but … honestly! He'd been made a knight, yet he came across as such a coward at times!

Bryallyn vaguely heard Daveth challenge the knight, as he had been doing on and off since the three had been assigned to Alistair for the quest to obtain darkspawn blood. Out in the Wilds, he'd been the same, and his attitude, his comments, his overall presence was becoming a nuisance in her opinion. He was doing nothing to recommend the knights of Redcliffe to her at the moment.

"Why all these damn tests? Have I not earned my place?"

Bryallyn fought an overwhelming urge to go over and throttle the man, to point out that the aggravations he was having to go through now were nothing compared the the loss of one's family and home. She didn't hear what Daveth said this time, having turned away to hide her disgust from both men. But she did hear Jory's follow up comment. "I only know that my wife is in Highever with a child on the way. If they had warned me … it just doesn't seem fair."

 _Maker's ass, that did it!_  Spinning around on her heel, her irritation about to boil over, Bryallyn took a step towards them … and was stopped by a strong hand on her arm. Glancing up, she found Alistair there shaking his head. Silently, he led her off to the side, just out of hearing distance from the others. Frowning up at him, she started, "Alistair -"

"Bryallyn, don't. The ritual is … well, it is a test of sorts, but it has different effects on all those involved. Those who are chosen are meant to be chosen. Those who are not, do not succeed."

She glanced at Alistair's face closely as he spoke, wondering at some of his word choices. It was clear to her that he was being very selective. "He's blubbering like a child," she muttered, turning her head away. Suddenly, she was hit with a moment of clarity and found herself putting everything into perspective.  _And are you not doing the same?_  she asked herself. Sighing, she lifted a hand to run over her face. "Alistair, I'm sorry …." She looked back at him, noticing then that his lopsided smile was making itself known once more, and that in itself was enough to trigger a smile for her. Despite everything else - her own losses, her fear for her child, even the insecurities to be had with becoming a Warden - all of that fell to the background for the moment.

Alistair reached out to pat her shoulder awkwardly. "No worries," he murmured. Then with a slight reddening of his cheeks and neck, he admitted, "I … I know you are concerned. About the affects of the ritual … on your child …."

Bryallyn lifted her brow at him. "You know?"

His cheeks darkened a bit more. Nodding, he admitted, "Yes. Both Duncan and Wynne spoke with me. They wanted me to be aware … just in case …."

Bryallyn smiled at him then and reached out to pat his arm gently. "Thank you." She paused a moment then, a thought occurring to her, and added, "Alistair, can I … ask a favor of you?"

The blond man nodded. "If it is within my power to do so, of course," he told her in his open, honest way.

Smiling, Bryallyn continued, "If the worst should happen … would you find Fergus for me? When his patrol returns from the Wilds, I mean? Tell him what happened? Tell him …." Her voice trailed off, unable or unwilling to put it into words.

Alistair's reply was quick and reassuring. "Of course I will."

Turning their attentions back to the others, Bryallyn heard Jory saying, "I've just never faced a foe I could not engage with my blade."

Sighing, Bryallyn dropped her head slightly and stared at the ground. She felt a hand upon her shoulder, squeezing gently to offer silent support. "You know," she told Alistair quietly as she struggled to hide her frustrations with the knight, "if this is the calm before the storm, I think I'll take the storm." She thought she heard a strangled snicker from Alistair and she smiled. Some of the tension had fallen away with her comment, and more had left with his reaction. Now was time to see what she could do about what remained.

Turning slightly so that she could face him once more, Bryallyn said quietly, "I'm sorry … that was rather uncharitable of me. Perhaps I should simply have said, 'It takes all kinds,' yes?" Another snicker, a quirk of the lips, and she was grinning at him. Lifting a brow at him, she admitted, "Fergus used to tell me that my attempts at humor were like a bronto waltzing over a table filled with glasses."

She did not dare look at him then as she heard strangled laughs being forced back. "No," he choked out after a moment, "that … that wasn't bad." She finally dared a look up at him and found him struggling to regain his composure. She understood the ritual was serious, but given everything else that was going on in her life, she needed a bit of off-humor to release the tension before going through with it. She now found that it had indeed helped.

She turned when she heard Duncan walking into the ruins, and felt a hand at her back as Alistair guided her back over to join the others. As they neared, she heard Duncan talking about the Joining. "We speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but these words have been said since the first."

Duncan gestured for Alistair to recite them, and Bryallyn closed her eyes to listen completely.

_Join us, brothers and sisters._

_Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant._

_Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn._

_And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten._

_And that one day we shall join you._

As Duncan turned to retrieve a chalice set upon a table nearby, Bryallyn heard Alistair explaining, "Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint. We can sense it in the darkspawn and use it to slay the archdemon."

Duncan faced Bryallyn, Daveth and Jory then, signalling to Daveth that he was to be the first. "Daveth, step forward." Daveth did so, and Duncan handed the rogue the chalice from which he took a drink. Bryallyn watched, realizing then exactly what was happening and why the ritual was so dangerous … to both herself and her child. As Daveth's body fell to the ground before her, and she heard Jory beginning to protest again, Bryallyn could only focus her thoughts on her discussion with Wynne, sending forth what prayers she knew that the mage's spell had worked and would protect her child.  _This is why Duncan gave me a chance to back away._

As she came back to herself, she noticed that Alistair had moved up to position himself beside her, blocking her view slightly from what had happened with Duncan and Jory. Though, when Duncan returned, it was clear what had happened as Bryallyn noticed a fresh bloodstain on the Commander's armor. "Bryallyn Cousland, you are called upon to …."

Duncan's words faded from her ears as Bryallyn took a step forward, lifting the chalice into her hands.  _Nathaniel, love, forgive me if I have made the wrong choice!_  She tilted the cup then, allowing some of the odious liquid to slide between her lips and down her throat. Almost immediately, she could feel the weight of the chalice shift as the cup slid from her hands. She thought she might be falling then, the very sights and sounds around her muffled, blurred, moving.

* * *

_I am floating … there is no ground upon which to stand. I can see nothing but …._

_She drew back in horror as a huge, dark, ..scaled creature rose above her then, its roar deafening not so much in its volume or sound as in sheer strength. She automatically reached for her bow … to find that she did not have it. Secondly, she reached for her daggers, but again, nothing. The creature spread its wings then, unfurling them to such a distance that made Bryallyn feel minute in comparison. Though she was certain it would not work, she tried using her skills to communicate with it, to reach out and talk with it. All she received in return was another bellowing roar._

_She had to force the panic away, taking deep breaths to quell the fear. Yet still she was floating … ._

" _Bryallyn?"_

_The voice caught her off guard. She had not heard it for some time now, not since that night on the journey to Ostagar. "Nathaniel? Where? How?" She looked around, searching for him, but could not see him._

_Another thunderous explosion of sound from the scaled creature. Automatically, Bryallyn raised her hands to cover her ears. "Bry, what …?"_

_She almost cried as she heard his voice fading out, trailing away from her. "No! Nathaniel, come back!"_

_And then she was falling again, faster than before though not in a threatening manner. She did not fear this movement. Instead, she welcomed it and reached her arms towards the end …._

* * *

When her eyes opened, Bryallyn quickly lifted an arm to protect them from the light. She felt a hand reach out then, squeezing her forearm gently, reassuringly, as a hand lifted to her forehead. The contrast between the coolness of the hand at her brow and the warmth of her skin was not lost on her. "H-how …?" she tried, but could not get out more than the one word.

"There, there, child," the mage's familiar voice said soothingly. "All will be well if you just lay back and rest."

She blinked a few times, her eyes finally adjusting to the light, and then lowered her arm to find herself inside a hospital tent … she supposed it was the one she had seen near the infirmary upon her arrival at the camp. To her left sat Alistair, now pulling back his hand, a slight blush to his cheeks. Bryallyn smiled at him, nodding her appreciation of his concern. To her left, sitting on the edge of the bed was Wynne.  _Wynne!_  Opening her mouth, her voice a harsh whisper, Bryallyn asked, "Wynne … did the spell work?" She looked up at the older woman, her heart thudding in her chest. It was obvious that she'd passed the Joining, … but had the child?

Wynne brushed back some of Bryallyn's hair so that it did not obscure her vision. "Everything is fine, Bryallyn," Bryallyn heard the older woman assure her quietly. "The spell worked," the older mage giggled softly and Bryallyn saw amusement in her eyes, "like a charm."

"Like a …," Bryallyn found herself starting to giggle in return, but she swallowed it back quickly. They were not alone in the tent, and this was not the place to bring it up for further discussion. "Wynne, you have a wicked sense of humor," Bryallyn scolded fondly. She reached out and squeezed the woman's hand in her own. "But I do thank you."

Wynne patted Bryallyn's hand then and began to rise. "Just remember that I will need to recast it periodically until the child is born. Whether we are here, or have gone our separate ways, I will watch for you, my dear, until we can bring the child into this world safely."

Bryallyn nodded, wondering vaguely what would happen now since she was a Warden. Duncan knew of her condition, knew that they were attempting to save the child, so he must have thought ahead to what would follow … right? "I will do whatever it takes, Wynne," she finally promised.

After the mage's departure, Bryallyn turned towards Alistair. "I am assuming I passed the Joining?" she asked quietly as she slowly started moving into a seated position upon the cot. Alistair rose then, offering her a hand to assist her to her feet. Gratefully, she took it and stood.

"That you have," he replied. He then spent a few minutes quietly discussing the results of both his Joining and hers. When he noted that she seemed steady on her feet, he began leading her out of the tent and back towards the main camp. "Duncan is meeting with King Cailan and Teyrn Loghain," he explained. "He would like for you to join them if possible."

Bryallyn nodded. "Of course. Where do I find them?"

Alistair pointed her in the right direction. "Instead of turning right where you found me, turn left and head to the other end of the old hall. They should be there. I will see you back at the Warden camp afterwards."

Nodding again, Bryallyn turned to leave, but then paused. Turning back to face him, she told him sincerely, "Alistair, thank you." She saw him blush a bit, and she smiled in return. Unsure what else to say to him and not wanting to cause him further embarrassment, she turned and started off in the direction of the meeting she was to attend.


	36. Men's Hearts Hold Shadows

"Mother, remind me why it is we are risking our lives for these Wardens?"

The sounds of battle could be heard far and wide, echoing through the valley, bouncing off the ruins, wafting through the forests of the Korcari Wilds. "If the Wardens do not survive, Morrigan," Flemeth told her daughter, "then  _we_  do not survive." With this last came a gesture that included more than just the two apostate mages, both of whom were located well above the actual fighting in the branches of one of the taller trees. "The Blight can only be ended by them … and if we are to accomplish our goal, we need them to survive."

"Would it not be better to call in for other reinforcements?" Morrigan asked as she kept an eye upon the fighting below. It was obvious to her that the King's armies would not win … not unless his ally entered the fray, and that had yet to happen.

"What's done is done," Flemeth told her. "This decision was made long ago. Those who were to partake in the battle are here. As for the rest …."

Both women turned towards the ruins of the tower … one Tower of Ishal up in the ruins proper of Ostagar. A fiery signal burst forth, the indication that the reinforcements were to engage the field of battle. The women waited … and watched … and Flemeth shook her head sadly, but nodded as the dark haired one she had met years before gave the order to pull troops back, and in the process sacrificing the son of his friend, the husband of his daughter, and the nation's king. "Fool!" she murmured, though her emotional response to this action was neutral. Glancing over at Morrigan she said, "Girl, you are going to have a heavy burden to carry, to make sure that these Wardens survive. Are you up to the task?"

Though she would not admit to any nervousness, particularly to Flemeth, Morrigan nodded slowly. "I am ready, mother," she finally replied.

"Good." Reaching out, she pointed towards an area of the battlefield where it seemed some of the most intense fighting was taking place. "They will lose much this day. Their king, their Warden Commander … their hope. It will be up to you to guide them back."

Morrigan sighed. She did not believe she was ready for this, but she had no basis for comparison, and time had run out. As she and Flemeth watched the king fall to the hands of an ogre, and then the Warden Commander, as well as the few other Wardens in Ferelden, fall to the darkspawn, both women came to understand their roles. Reciting ancient words of transfiguration, they continued along their chosen path to aid the last two Grey Wardens in Ferelden.

* * *

_Bryallyn was floating again, but though there was urgency, the danger was not the same. No huge, dark, winged creatures faced off with her, its thunderous bellows shaking the very air around her. This was more the feel of … movement, transport … change. She looked around, but saw no one, no thing. It was dark out, the stars in the sky multitudinous in their number, the waning moon along the far horizon. If she reached out her hand, she might be able to touch …._

" _Bryallyn …."_

_Her heart constricted as the familiar tones reached towards her. "Nathaniel?"_

_She looked, peering through the stars, the veil of darkness, searching … hoping …._

_The movement came to a gentle stop then and Bryallyn almost sighed at the sensation. Again, she began peering, reaching out as if to part the sky to find her husband behind the curtain of stars._

" _Bry?"_

_She sat up - when had she laid down? - crying out to the stars, "Nathaniel, I am here!" Rising to her feet, she looked around, biting her lip as she felt a panic building. "Where are you?" Her voice was beginning to display the edginess she felt._

" _I am here."_

_A gentle touch at her shoulder, the soft deep tones of his voice. Bryallyn spun around to find him, standing there before her, just as ruggedly handsome as she remembered. Had it really been so long? Just about two months now since they had last seen each other? She reached up to touch his face, her fingers tangling lightly in the hair not pulled back out of his face. She felt him mimicking the same motions and leaned her head towards his touch. "We don't have much time, my love," she told him as she felt the tenuousness of their connection._

_His hand moved further, though, pushing her hair away from her face as if oblivious to the fragility. "I will find you," he told her, his voice trembling with sincerity. "I will find you."_

_Bryallyn nodded, noting as she did that he was beginning to fade from her sight. "I will watch for you!" she called after him, reaching out to grasp … but finding nothing but the star-filled sky once more. Ignoring the tears rolling down her face, she lifted her hand to cover her lips, her voice whispering one last time, "I will watch for you …."_

* * *

Bryallyn shifted and felt a wave of pain race through her right shoulder and neck area … the place she recalled having been shot by … arrows? Though her eyes were still shut, she frowned. _Darkspawn arrows … an ogre … Loghain's men leaving the field … the Tower of Ishal …._

She bolted up in bed then, a cry escaping her lips as she felt another wave of pain in response to her motions. She felt a strong hand at her opposite shoulder trying to force her to lie back. Struggling to open her eyes, she found her sight blurred. Reaching up instead, she placed her hand over the one pressing her back … noticing as she did so that they were large and definitely male. Her head still focused on the images from before, she whispered, "Nathaniel?"

A second hand, this one not as large, less masculine in shape and form, removed her hand from the first, setting hers atop her torso as a vaguely familiar yet not quite reassuring voice murmured, "Ease your mind and rest your heart now, Warden, for you have many trials ahead of you which will require them both."

She felt the hand move to her forehead then, laying there for a moment. She sighed as the whispery sounds of ancient words worked their way into her consciousness … and then carried her off to a dreamless slumber.

* * *

"... until such time as you can meet up with the mage who cast this spell. If she yet lives." There was a pause, and then, "So much about this one is yet uncertain, Morrigan! And yet … I find that I believe in her. I  _must_  believe."

 _Still floaty_ , Bryallyn noticed, yet she was able to focus more on the words being said around her.  _The mage? What mage is she talking …. Wynne!_  Bryallyn's heart began to race.  _Did she survive? Will I be able to find her? What about …._

"Ah, our Warden returns at last."

Bryallyn's eyes popped open as she sat up suddenly. She felt the pain surge through her shoulder, but it was nothing like what she'd felt at the time of being shot, so that was an improvement. Blinking in the dim lighting, Bryallyn found that she was able to focus better this time around. It took a few moments, but she soon found herself face to face with Morrigan and … her mother? Frowning, she blinked again. "Where … Are we at your hut?" she queried, trying to place the unfamiliar surroundings.

Morrigan's mother was standing at the foot of the bed and Morrigan just behind, kneeling beside the fire. "That you are," the woman agreed, her rough and raspy voice an interesting companion to the otherwise silent room. "Do you recall anything of what happened? Of how you got here?"

Bryallyn shifted, pulling herself back against the pillows behind her, the bedclothes lying across her lap. Lifting a hand to her head, she brushed some of the hair away from her eyes and managed, "I … I remember defeating the ogre. Alistair and Constant … and a mage?" The man had been unknown to her. "Then we lit the signal and looked out over the field … to see Teyrn Loghain retreating!" Her gaze shot up to catch the older woman's. "And then more darkspawn arrived and I was shot …." Her left hand lifted to her right shoulder then, reaching beneath the fabric of the shift she wore, touching the bandaged area lightly, more out of instinct than to examine the damage done. And then she remembered.

Her hand dropping, she asked, "Is the child all right?"

Morrigan's mother's laughter was something approaching what Bryallyn would consider a cackle. Then, with something akin to a look of understanding, she nodded. "Your child is fine," she promised. "Your friend, however …."

"My … friend?" Bryallyn echoed, then turned as she heard Morrigan make some harrumphing noise.  _Alistair!_  Moving, she slide towards the edge of the bed, throwing back the bedclothes. "Where is he? He survived, right?"

The woman stepped around to the side of the bed and herded Bryallyn back beneath the covers. "Yes, yes, your friend lives," she announced with so me aggravation in her tone. "I will allow him in here shortly. "He merely is wallowing in despair and self pity at the moment due to the loss of his friends, the majority of Ferelden's army, and the betrayal of a hero."

It came back to her then, what they had seen from the tower, the men who had fallen, the retreat of Loghain's men. A dull ache began settling around Bryallyn's chest as she realized that both Cailan and Duncan would be gone forever. More deaths to add to those already lost. She was so absorbed in her thoughts she did not notice Morrigan stepping out of the hut to usher in Alistair just then … not until she heard him gasp, "You … you're alive!"

Bryallyn glanced over at him. "I will be fine," she told him as he crossed closer. "Are you all right?" She'd seen him take a hit from the darkspawn arrows just as she'd gone down … or so she thought.

Alistair nodded. "Yes … Morrigan's mother managed to -"

"Do not talk about me as if I am not present," the woman scoffed.

Bryallyn lifted her gaze back to the woman as Alistair began to sputter protests. Reaching out, Bryallyn squeezed his forearm until he quieted at which point she commented, "What shall we call you then?"

Another half cackle half laugh as she replied, "The Chasind call me Flemeth ... I suppose that will do."

 _Flemeth? Daveth's Witch of the Wilds?_  Bryallyn's brain began spinning with the announcement, but she let the thought go as she heard Alistair beginning to protest once more. Squeezing his arm again until he silenced, she asked, "You were the one who rescued us then?"

Flemeth nodded. "Morrigan and I did, yes. It was unfortunate that nothing could be done for your leaders or you army. Aside from the retreat of your Teyrn Loghain and his men, there were some others who managed to escape … though few in number."

Bryallyn felt her chest squeeze painfully again.  _Fergus?_  Removing her hand from Alistair, she lifted it to pinch the bridge of her nose to ward off a headache. "This doesn't seem real," she heard Alistair argue. "Why would Loghain do this?"

"That," Flemeth replied, her voice a bit sharp with her emphasis, "is a good question. Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature."

There had been something odd in the way that Flemeth had made that pronouncement, and Bryallyn found herself looking back at the woman.  _Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature._  The words echoed through her head. Well, that description fit Loghain to a T, she thought, as well as Rendon Howe. Who else might it cover? Bryallyn increased the pressure on her nose for a moment, desperately needing the ability to focus. As she did, she heard Alistair and Flemeth begin to discuss what would happen next.

"... Not to mention … I don't know how!"

Bryallyn blinked.  _Don't know how to what?_

Alistair turned towards her as if he'd heard her thoughts. "Only Wardens know how to or can defeat a Blight," he explained. "But I'd never been instructed on any of it - I've only been a Warden for six months!"

Nodding her understanding, Bryallyn murmured, "Well, we will have to figure this out on our own then. Surely there must be some way we can replenish the army? Not everyone was lost," she looked over at Flemeth, "right?"

"You will need to start from scratch, as it were," she announced, much to Bryallyn's dismay. "Those who were not pulled back by your Loghain were very few in number, and now would be scattered to the winds of Ferelden."

Bryallyn frowned. Something was nagging at the back of her mind. She tried to picture it, to remember where she had been when she heard it … and she found herself staring at Alistair. He was looking at her oddly, which she could not blame him, and then he turned his head slightly and she gasped. Something about …. And then the memory came to her. "Arl Eamon," she told him, her fingers snapping. "Arl Eamon has his troops still at Redcliffe. I heard Duncan telling King Cailan when we arrived. What if we were to go to him and see about raising an army?"

Alistair seemed stunned at first, but then Bryallyn saw his eyes widen, taking on a bit of hope from the idea. "Eamon is Cailan's uncle," he added. "He certainly would help. I know him - he's a good man."

Bryallyn recalled meeting the man upon occasion as well. "What about those treaties Duncan had us find?" she asked next. She watched Alistair give her a blank look. "The ones from our last journey into the Wilds? The ones Flemeth gave us?" She heard Flemeth chuckle from her position off to the side of the room. "Treaties are agreements, are they not? Of assistance promised between two groups of individuals?"

"Yes, yes of course," Alistair agreed.

"Well then," Flemeth announced, stepping back over to join their conversation once more. "It sounds as if you have the makings of an army after all, doesn't it. And I have one last, precious gift that I can offer you as well."

They were interrupted then when the door to the hut opened, and Morrigan stepped back inside. When all eyes turned on her, the woman scowled at each one of them in turn. "What? Have I grown a wart on my nose?" she demanded.

Bryallyn almost choked when she heard Alistair mutter for her ears only, "That would be an improvement, don't you think?"

"Girl, pack your things. The Wardens will be leaving shortly, to begin their journey. You must go with them to ensure their survival." When Morrigan began sputtering protests, Flemeth crossed over to speak with her more privately.

It was at that point that Bryallyn began moving off the bed. Alistair moved to assist her, giving her an arm to lean on if she required it. "We're really going to take her with us?" he muttered.

Bryallyn gave him a considering look. "We need all the help we can get, Alistair," she reminded him. She saw him nod. She began reaching for her clothing then, and her armor. When she started to pull on her breeches, she noticed him blushing and she smiled. "Why don't you shield me from view with your back," she suggested and noted the look of thanks in his eyes. Once he had turned, she quickly donned her clothing and then reached for her armor. She was examining her chest piece when she noted that the holes from the arrows that had hit her were mended. The repair job had been done well, and would buy her some time until they reached a proper town or city in which she could find a more suitable replacement. "Did you do this?" she asked.

Alistair glanced over his shoulder quickly and, when he realized she was more or less presentable, turned to explain, "I did. It was pretty straight forward," he added, "but I thought you could still get some wear out of it until …."

Bryallyn gave him a smile of thanks and appreciation. "I can and I will," she replied. "Thank you."

He blushed again at her words, and Bryallyn's smile softened. She pulled on the piece, moving quickly to tighten the familiar straps and fasteners until it was the way she liked it. The only area of concern for her was her shoulder where the leather would rub up against the bandages, but that was soon adjusted and she was ready to go except for her weapons, her pack and …. "Constant!"

Bryallyn realized then, suddenly, that her ever faithful hound had not been nearby. Her heart wrenching at the thought, she managed to ask, "Were you able to rescue my hound by any chance?"

Flemeth turned back towards them then, Morrigan following. "We were only able to take you both," she explained. "But fear not. Mabari are intelligent animals. I suspect your friend is simply out there looking for you as we speak."

Though she did not want to get her hopes up only to have them dashed, Bryallyn did take heart at the woman's words. "We should be leaving then," she said a moment later as she sheathed her daggers, shouldered her pack and her bow. Turning towards Flemeth, she told her, "Thank you … for everything."

Again, the cackle, Bryallyn noted. "Do not thank me yet, young woman," she intoned. "Your journey is just beginning, and you have much to accomplish." Then with what could be construed as a smile, she added, "Take heart in the friends and allies you meet along the way. Old or new, all will provide you with something that you need to help you through."

Bryallyn nodded and looked up at Alistair. "Are you ready?" He nodded his agreement. Turning towards Morrigan, she tilted her head slightly at the young witch. "And you? Your mother has offered us your assistance, but I would not force you to join us if you do not wish to."

There was a surprised look in Morrigan's eyes, Bryallyn noticed, and for just a moment she thought the woman might remain silent. "My destiny lies with you," she finally stated. "I will show you the way out of the Wilds safely. I would suggest we head to Lothering first, where you will be able to resupply and perhaps find information as to what the current state of affairs is now that your king lies dead."

Bryallyn nodded, fighting the sudden dread at that last thought. Had her father been alive, things might be different. Shaking her thoughts away, she turned at last towards the door and led the way out, her mind trying to focus ahead and not behind.


	37. Ferelden In Our Sights

Though dark with heavy and high seas, Nathaniel stood at the rail of the ship staring out into the distance towards Ferelden. For the second time in the past few days, he had dreamt of Bryallyn, and the dreams had left him with nothing but concern and an unsettled feeling.

The first one had been vague. Bryallyn had been present - Nathaniel had heard her voice - but there had been a wall of sorts in between them, obscuring her from his vision. Something blocking him from seeing that she was actually present. But he had been able to sense her fear, had heard a thunderous rumbling roaring sound that had sent chills of fright and worry down his spine, and yet he had not seen the source for this either.

Nathaniel had tried to set the disturbing thoughts aside, to focus on his mission and not half-formed hopes or ideas of which he had no real knowledge if they were even real.

And then there had been a second dream. It had started in a similar fashion - the sound of Bryallyn's voice, but no sight of her … until quite suddenly, she had been before him. He had reached out and touched her - her shoulder, her face, her hair. He had spoken to her then too. Something more than her name, his voice adamant in its insistence. "I will find you!" he had told her. As soon as he had said it, he had felt their connection breaking. As quickly as he had found her, he had been tumbling back to reality, finding himself waking in his bed on board the ship. But, in that half-moment that could be found between dreams and wakefulness, he could have sworn he had heard her reply, "I will watch for you …."

Now, the peace of sleep long forgotten, Nathaniel remained on deck at the rail staring at the distant borders of his homeland … wondering at the chaos that would be found upon arrival. That it would be there, he did not question. Between Dev's words, the dreams, and what they had found at the Antell estate, Nathaniel knew full well that he was walking into something different, something much larger and broader than he could ever have envisioned … something that had happened at the hands of his father. The question remained, however: How far did it extend?

As dawn broke around him, Nathaniel's thoughts were broken by the noise of the ship's crew as they hustled and bustled around him, intent upon their duties. Nathaniel paused to observe them, desperate he supposed for something to distract him from his current thoughts and worries.

The captain walked over to Nathaniel then, nodding his greeting as he approached. Nathaniel nodded in return and adjusted his stance to be more open, more welcoming. Nathaniel had spoken to the man upon several occasions since boarding in Kirkwall and found him to be a decent, hardworking person. "How much longer until we arrive at West Hills, Captain?" Nathaniel asked.

The man was considerably older, his face weathered by the years and the elements. "I suspect by late afternoon or early evening today," he replied.

Nathaniel nodded. He was considering how to ask for the information he really needed when he heard the Captain announce, "I would suggest that you hold your departure until after dark. There are more patrols out now that the Arl of Amaranthine has taken control of Highever, and his influence does extend this far south."

Nathaniel winced and glanced away, fury, shame and despair beginning to overwhelm him.  _So it is true then._

"The patrols themselves are nothing you should not be able to evade," the Captain continued giving Nathaniel a knowing look. "But why take any unnecessary chances, eh?"

Nathaniel frowned. It was becoming clear to him that the man knew more than what he was letting on. Did he recognize Nathaniel? Granted, the nose sort of gave him away, but only if one had seen Rendon Howe up close and personal before. Did the Captain know more of what had or currently was happening at Highever?

His questions presumably were expected or Nathaniel had lost the ability to hide what he felt because the Captain told him quietly, "Much has happened in the past few weeks. This is the main reason I sail for West Hills now instead of Highever itself. You would do well to remember, young man," the look he gave Nathaniel was as hard as it was telling, "that the Arl of Amaranthine will to go  _any lengths_  to remove those in his way."

Nathaniel straightened, his eyes widening. The things that Dev had told him had really happened. Nodding at the man, Nathaniel asked simply, "Everyone?"

Here the Captain smiled sadly and shrugged his shoulders. "That is hard to know," he returned. "Rumor has it that the Teyrn's son was out of the castle when it happened. There are also rumors that the daughter escaped and that straggling members of the Teyrn's forces are returning by ones and twos to start up a resistance in Highever." The Captain shrugged again. "These are things of which I have no knowledge. What I do know is that the Teyrn along with the Teyrna, the daughter-in-law and grandchild were all killed. These are the known facts as of the last time I was in port there."

Nathaniel groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. Little Oren? Oriana? Bryce and Eleanor, yes, Nathaniel could see the logic (though he certainly did not agree with it) to removing them if his father's intentions had been to take over the Teyrnir, but Fergus' wife? His child? "You are … positive?" Nathaniel rasped.

"To my never ending dismay, lad, yes. I was docked in Highever the days following. I went into the town, walked by the castle gates. Let us just say that the … display they had there left no doubt about it."

Nathaniel felt ill. He listened to the Captain talk for a bit longer, but finally could take it no more. Raising a hand to ward off further conversation, he managed, "I … I shall be careful, Captain. Thank you for the warning. For now, however …." He felt the Captain's eyes upon his back the entire walk to the stairs leading to the rooms below deck. Nathaniel needed to speak with Trinion. This journey was going to be much more difficult than he had first imagined.

* * *

The waning silver sliver of a moon was high in the night sky when Nathaniel led the others to the deck of the ship. They had arrived in port late that afternoon and by the time the ship had found an open berth and docked, the sun was beginning to settle in the west for the day. Most of the passengers on bard disembarked immediately, but Nathaniel and his companions had waited. Per the Captain's earlier comments and advice, and through consultation with both Trinion and Rhyan, they had all agreed to wait until dark for their departure.

When the skies finally darkened, Nathaniel led his small party off of the ship. They traveled quickly, quietly and as unobtrusively as possible. It was a four and a half day journey from West Hill to Highever. It took them six nights to make it. Occasionally they caught glimpses of Howe patrols - twice in West Hill as they were exiting the old fortress village, more an more frequently the closer they came to Highever proper. It appeared that Rendon Howe was taking no chances.

Nathaniel had no fears that he would encounter his father. Rendon Howe was of the opinion  _Why do for myself what my lackeys can do for me?_  As Dev's betrayal had shown, there would always be someone willing to do the mans bidding, whether by force or by choice.

Late on the sixth evening, the group came near enough to Highever proper to observe the patrols around the city walls. Though he did not recognize any of the men that he could see, Nathaniel found the armor and heraldic devices worn upon them and the shields to be the same as his fathers. Though he hadn't expected any different, the visual proof of his father's traitorous actions were more than a bit disheartening.

Nathaniel turned to the others shortly thereafter, announcing quietly that they should affect entrance into the city in smaller groups. "The key here is to remember they probably have a curfew in place, they will know who belongs and who does not. The Captain said that they do allow travelers in for trade, though he had his doubts about just how much trade was actually occurring. The last time he was here was a few days after the attack. Point is we need to keep ourselves from being recognized as one large group. I do not dare enter this way. Though I do not know many of my father's men, I have no doubt that they would recognize me for a Howe should they see me."

The silence remained in place for a long moment, partially because a patrol roamed close and partially because there was naught much else to be said. Finally, Grayson offered with a nod, "My lord, I know of another way into the city. I would suggest that you and I go this route, the others in through the gate in at least two or three separate groupings. We can meet at  _The Cliff's Edge_ later."

Nathaniel looked over at Trinion and Rhyan first to solicit their thoughts, and they both agreed. "Right. One last thought, each group that goes in should have one Highever man with them to help lead the way through town. Meet at  _The Cliff's Edge_  as soon as you possibly can make it safely. I will see you there."

It was still a few hours before dawn when Nathaniel found both himself and Grayson retracing their steps for a few miles away from Highever on the main road. Then, spying the turn off, Grayson had told him about, both men moved north until they were able to descend to the coast through paths twisting around the cliffs. Once at the water's edge, Grayson began leading the way along the coastline to a set of tunnels that exited onto the beach.

Years before, during the time of Bryce Cousland's great-grandfather, the natural tunnels beneath the cliffs of Highever had been found and expanded into a network that joined five main branches together. Two came directly from the castle, three from various points around the city of Highever itself, winding and twisting and weaving their way around beneath the cliffs until exiting onto the beach. At the time they had been established, it had been thought they would serve as an emergency exit of sorts in times of need. Now, they would serve as an entrance into the city for Nathaniel and Grayson so that they could keep their identities hidden from Howe patrols.

It wasn't until they had entered the tunnel system, a makeshift torch from a piece of driftwood and a sacrificial tunic wrapped around it, to help lead the way that Grayson explained to Nathaniel the history of the tunnels. "I suspect that the attack upon the castle came to quickly for them to use," he murmured sadly as they branched off along one corridor that lead towards the city itself. "Though this one looks like it might have been used."

Nathaniel remained quiet behind the man, his thoughts kept inwards. There was no accusation in the guard's tone, but Nathaniel didn't need to hear it. He felt enough guilt on his own for his father's actions. After a time, he managed to ask, "Where does this path lead?"

"It comes out in an alleyway about two blocks from  _Cliff's Edge,_  my lord. If we can stay in the shadows after that, we both should be fine," he replied.

Nathaniel felt a sardonic smile pull at his lips. To think that it would be one of the skills that his father had sent him off to learn in his training that would save him from his father's men now seemed appropriate indeed. "How much longer do you think?"

Grayson was silent for a moment. "The exit is along here," he pointed down the corridor, "another five hundred yards or so. Maybe a bit longer. It's been a while since I've been down here, you see."

"Not to worry," Nathaniel assured him as he continued following. "The fact that you knew about this is enough. The question will be: do my father's men know about it? Will there be men guarding it when we arrive?"

Grayson nodded but remained silent. Then he stopped and paused for just a moment, pointing the torch out ahead of him, waving it slightly left and right. "Right then," he murmured as he dropped the torch to allow it to burn itself out on the ground. Pointing to a ladder against the wall before the flame extinguished, he added, "This is it. I will go first, my lord. Should it be under watch, go back the way we came and fast. Continue along the beach eastwards, beyond Highever. About five miles beyond is another set of caves. Trinion will know to go there if we do not show up."

Nathaniel blinked back his surprise, but quietly murmured his assent as he watched the man begin to climb. He could hear sounds from above as he stepped over to the ladder. Glancing up as the torch faded out, he could see the vague shadows of Grayson working on the barricade between them and the city. Another rattle, the sound of a shoulder being hefted into something heavy, a soft grunt from the man above and then … silence. Nathaniel drew in a breath and held it for a moment as the portal began to open.

It was clearly a trapdoor of some sort, and Nathaniel was not surprised to watch Grayson slip outside, lower it back to a closed position and leaving him in the dark, quite literally, for a short time. Had their positions been reversed, Nathaniel would have done the same: making certain no one was around to watch. In the time between, Nathaniel began climbing the ladder in an attempt to see if he could hear sounds coming from the other side that might indicate trouble. He could hear nothing. Another moment or two of silence and Nathaniel found that he was fighting to hold back attempting to open the door himself. When finally he could wait no longer and he reached to push it up, it moved away swiftly. Blinking back the brightness from above, Nathaniel heard an urgent whisper, "Quickly, my lord. The wall to your left."

Nathaniel moved without discussion, nearly leaping out of the exit and sliding into the shadows against the building in one fluid motion as Grayson lowered the trapdoor back into place before joining him. Nathaniel felt a hand upon his arm holding him in place for a long moment. It was a good thing, too, as a patrol turned down the alleyway a short distance away and went walking right by them.

Once the danger was clear, the hand upon his arm squeezed once, indicating it was clear to go. Nathaniel followed Grayson through the alleyway, down another and two blocks over until they came to a halt near a rear door to an establishment. Given the size of the structure, Nathaniel assumed it was  _The Cliff's Edge_. Reaching for the door, Grayson urged, "Inside quickly."

Nathaniel moved inside, stepping to the right of the door so Grayson could enter behind him. "Now where?" he whispered.

Grayson pointed towards a back stairway. "You wait there. I will go find out which room from Galen."

Nathaniel frowned. "Galen?"

Grayson offered Nathaniel the first smile in a long while then. "Galen is my cousin and proprietor of the inn," he explained.

Nodding, Nathaniel stepped up a few stairs to remain out of sight while Grayson disappeared. He returned moments later and silently signalled Nathaniel to follow. Within minutes the two men had ascended the stairwell and were standing in front of a door labeled with the number 24. Grayson rapped his knuckles against the barricade in a distinct pattern before it was pulled open and both men were ushered inside.

"You've made it. Good."

Nathaniel turned to find Rhyan standing there, Trinion standing near the window. The others were scattered around the good sized room. "No problems getting in?" Nathaniel asked as he began removing his gear and then his outerwear.

Rhyan shook her head as she moved to assist. "None at all. It would seem that your father's men are not so well trained as your father might wish."

Nathaniel smirked before glancing over at Trinion who had turned to face him. The man's face was grim, and Nathaniel suspected he knew what the man would say next. "What is it?" he asked, bracing himself for the worst.

Trinion gestured towards the bed. "My lord, you will want to sit for this," he told him grimly.

Nodding, Nathaniel found himself silently sending prayer after desperate prayer to the Maker and Andraste for things not to be so bad as they suddenly seemed ….


	38. Lothering Journal: Front Page

_**Firstfall, 9:30** _

_**Lothering** _

_So much has happened, and so quickly, I feel if I do not keep track of it in a journal I will never be able to recall the truth of it at a later time. Not that I particularly want to remember - we have lost so much, and most of it is incredibly painful to even touch on briefly - and yet, I find myself compelled to keep note of it. It occurs to me, even if only a passing flight of fancy, to wonder what Aldous would think of my sudden interest in keeping track of historical events …._

_True to her word, Morrigan has led us through the Wilds to Lothering as promised. Her guidance was essential, as it turns out, but her stand-offish, haughty, superior attitude … well that may cause more contention than is actually necessary. It is clear that she and Alistair do not get along, and though she might argue the point, I believe it is more than the fact that he was almost a Templar and she is an apostate mage. But then, she calls him names and eggs him on as well, so perhaps she has some other issue of which I am unaware. There are personalities that do not get along well together. I have seen this in the past. I think, perhaps (I am still open to a different judgement if the facts should change) this may be one of those situations._

_I should say from the beginning: Flemeth was right. At least, in regards to Constant. Just shy of Lothering, my faithful mabari, one of the only links I have left to my husband, found and joined our party. Morrigan's reaction was priceless, and I had to laugh (if only to myself). The utter disdain she had at the thought of having a dog in our midst … well, I hope she is over exaggerating, though I am not certain that she is. But then, perhaps her attitude is covering something else? It is very much like her attitude towards Alistair. Is it fear? Discomfort? Something else I am unable to recognize at this point in time? I suppose as we travel all will become clear._

_It is difficult to put into words what we found as we arrived in Lothering. Simply aside from the bandits who tried to obtain a "toll" for use of the Imperial Highway (we dealt with them quickly and announced such to the Chantry in the town upon arrival), the town is overrun with refugees fleeing the area. Human, elf, Chasind … even a Qunari caged on the outer edges of town - there is a bit of everyone and everything imaginable to be found here._

_Though I would be hard pressed to say that I have a love of the Chantry, I must admit that even they are finding it difficult to deal with the influx of desperate folk in need of assistance. We did what we could to assist. I nearly had to twist Morrigan's arm to engage her cooperation in making poultices for Elder Miriam, but finally she did so (with no small amount of grumbling). Alistair, Constant and I resorted to fulfilling requests from the Chantry board, mostly in the elimination of some additional bandit issues just outside of town. On our return, however, we found the remains of a child's mother. I nearly lost heart at that point. To think how easily that could be me someday, my son or daughter the one in town … alone, desperate for assistance. Alistair, Maker bless him, was quick to turn me away. He found an amulet on the woman that could be given to the child, a memory if nothing else, and he made note of the location to give to the Chantry officials so that her body might be recovered for a proper funeral pyre. I do not think, however, that I shall ever be able to put that particular incident from my mind …._

_The things we found ourselves doing (and there were plenty more to assist with) kept coming in one after another. We finally agreed to take a break, to find food and drink at the local tavern (called 'Dane's Refuge'). This turned out to make for a rather interesting afternoon all around. To begin with, Alistair and I were confronted by soldiers upon entry. After some discussion, we discovered that they had been left behind by Teyrn Loghain, to watch for any Grey Warden survivors. Their intent was … well, I'm not exactly certain if it was to capture or kill, but they accomplished neither. With the assistance of a local Chantry sister named Leliana (yes, a local Chantry sister, in gown and all but armed with blades) Loghain's lackeys were shown their proper place. I had thought to kill them all on the spot, knowing that Loghain was responsible for the deaths of King Cailan and Duncan and not ourselves, but Leliana suggested they might have a better purpose. We spoke for a moment and I finally agreed to use them as messengers, to inform Loghain that not only had Wardens survived but that they were aware of the Teyrn's treachery. What affect this will have on things I do not know, but I suspect we will need to be on our guard from here on out._

_After the completion of this confrontation, we took our meal at the tavern. I invited Leliana to join us, and found her to be quite pleasant, if not quite what I expected from a sister of the Chantry. I came to find that she had been sent a vision - yes, I had some doubts as to whether this was indeed true. Morrigan, of course, scoffed at such a notion. Alistair, well, even he seemed a bit skeptical. Myself, on the other hand …. I could not let such a judgement pass from my lips given the visions of my own husband that I had been having of late. I offered Leliana a space within our ranks, knowing that we would need what help we could find, and she accepted. Alistair did not seem reluctant in the least, though I could tell he still found her story to be a bit … odd. Morrigan. I simply gave her a look as if to say 'live with it.' Though she pursed her lips at me and frowned, the apostate said nothing against my decision - at least openly._

_Given that our new companion was from the area - sort of? That she is Orlesian is not in doubt as the lilt to her voice is obvious with each word she speaks. However, if I have figured things correctly from what both has and has not said, she has been a sister here for at least the past few years - I discussed the current situation with her regarding the state of things in Lothering. To say that it is 'bad' is an understatement the likes of which are incomprehensible, I fear. The Bann of Lothering, Coerlic I believe is his name, has abandoned them to their fate. If he is the man I recall, then I cannot say that I am surprised. He has left this place, and of those who remain, there are too many refugees, too few places to put them, too many who are ill or ailing in some way, too many who are afraid …. And so on. The discouraging and very sad thing is that in the Bann's place, there are many others who simply move in and try to take advantage. Had we the time to spend, I would encourage each and everyone of the people remaining to flee. After Ostagar, Alistair, Morrigan and I were perhaps the only ones who really knew what the people of this place were about to face. But our focus had to be elsewhere, or our cause and the country would be lost before we had even begun._

_It was during this discussion that I learned more regarding the Qunari who was penned on the outer edges of the town. The man apparently murdered the farmers and children who offered him assistance in cold blood. She even stated that he did not run, he offered no protest, he wished to pay for the crime he had committed. I pulled Alistair into this discussion, thinking perhaps we might be able to accomplish multiple goals with one action. With his agreement, we left (with Leliana to assist) to speak with the Revered Mother. After some discussion and even more persuasion, we were able to convince the woman to release the Qunari to the Wardens custody._

_When we approached the Qunari in his cage, I alone spoke to him (by prior agreement), working my way through a round about discussion until I was, at long last, able to convince him that he would find what he sought (atonement) in joining our ranks and focusing his fight against the darkspawn whom we Wardens are obliged to defeat. He is strong and proud, though his views on the role of people in society differ quite a bit from most._

_I am sitting here, in Dane's Refuge once more (apparently Alistair must have said something to Leliana about my 'condition,' or at least hinted strongly at it, as she is stubbornly trying to make me eat even though the thought of food at the moment turns my stomach), considering our next steps to take. We can go to Redcliffe and speak with Arl Eamon who, I have since learned, was a foster father of sorts to Alistair. This would be his preference, I think. We could begin the journey to approaching our allies: elves, dwarves and mages. I am leaning towards this option, if only to visit the Circle Tower, to see if Wynne survived. She told me to find her after the battle. Whether she meant that at the camp at Ostagar or at the Tower, I must find her to be certain she is safe and secondarily to see if she will continue to assist me as she once offered. But Redcliffe is closer. Arl Eamon always struck me as being a fairly reasonable man, the few times I met him. Perhaps Alistair is right. If we can conclude our discussions with him quickly, then perhaps we can get to the Tower within a few days, maybe even by boat? I recall a trip once in my youth when Father took us to Redcliffe, taking the boat from Lake Calenhad south … . I wonder if I would still be as seasick as I was then?_


	39. Hiding Out

He didn't want to believe it, but he had no reason not to. Trinion had been nothing but up front and honest with him from the beginning. Rhyan had no reason to lie about such a thing. But the plain and simple fact was that Nathaniel could not believe his father would have been responsible for or allowed his men to do such a thing. That in itself, should have supported the truth of the answer.

"My lord?"

Nathaniel had been sitting on the edge of the bed hunched over, his elbows resting on his legs, his head fallen into his hands. "Yes?" he muttered roughly as he scrubbed his face with his hands and sat up once more. It was Grayson, quiet as ever, stepping beside him. "My cousin Galen, my lord. He has come to answer any questions you might have."

Nathaniel took a deep, shuddering breath, not particularly wanting to have this conversation but knowing that someone had to do it. If it was this bad for him to suffer through, he could only imagine what it must be like for the Highever men in his company who had lived here most if not all of their lives. Standing, Nathaniel turned to face the innkeeper. The first thing that he noticed was that neither man looked a bit like the other. Blinking past his immediate confusion, he could not help but ask, "Are you certain you two are related?"

The innkeeper chuckled wryly. "My lord, our fathers were twins. There is no doubt." Grayson and Galen exchanged a quick look. "We both took after our mothers' sides."

Nathaniel managed a small smile, though it did not reach his eyes and he saw that Galen noted this.  _Grayson must have told him what this was about._  "I do have some questions … if you have time. I would not put you in danger if your absence will be noticed."

Galen shook his head. "I appreciate your forethought, my lord, but I am safe enough. The curfew will not set in for at least an hour. We have that much time at least." What he did not say was that after the curfew took effect and the townsfolk were in their homes the Howe soldiers would then descend upon the town.

Nathaniel nodded and walked over to stand near the window. It was darkening outside, but he stayed to the left of the window, even with curtains drawn, just to be safe. "I was told by my companions about the … display," the word came out almost as a snarl, "in front of the castle."

Galen nodded. "Yes, my lord," he replied in a quiet, respectful tone, "it is rather … reprehensible."

Nathaniel sighed. Bryce and Eleanor … Oriana …. He could understand to a point why Bryce, Eleanor would have been made examples of - it was simple battle tactics. To the victor go the spoils, and in this case, the clear denunciation and destruction of a family beloved by the townsfolk. How else would they keep them in line? But Oriana? She was an innocent, at least to Nathaniel's way of thinking. Why put her out there?

In the back of his mind, Nathaniel could hear the sneering voice of his father cursing and taunting him for being 'soft' and 'unworthy' to be counted among the Howe soldiers. It had been years since he had last had that happen and it caught him off guard. His already fierce scowl deepened as he shoved the memories away, forced himself to ignore the voice and began his questions again.

"What of the others? Little Oren? The staff? Bryallyn?" Nathaniel felt his throat close upon itself as he said his wife's name. He was nearly certain she had survived, though he could not put into words just how exactly he knew that. The others had chosen to follow him for the time being and he did not dare give them any sign that he was unfit to lead. To explain that he had been 'seeing' his wife in dreams?

Galen sighed. "Those bodies not put out on display were disposed of with the refuse behind the castle," he explained. "Oren Cousland was one of those in that group." When Nathaniel pinned the man with a sharp look, he added, "The father of one of our serving girls was forced to help dispose of the dead. He carried the boy's body himself. But of your wife, my lord, nothing is known. As far as we know, and by 'we' I mean those who were involved in the disposal process, she was not among the dead. There are rumors that she and her hound escaped with the Warden Commander who was in residence at the time of the attack."

 _Warden Commander?_  Nathaniel thought back to the strategy session just after he and Bryallyn had returned to Highever. "I remember him," he finally returned. "Tall, dark, carried two blades."

Galen nodded. "That is the man, ser. But as I say, those are only rumors. There are other rumors too, just as equally likely, that say prisoners were taken away from the keep and sent to Amaranthine. Who exactly those prisoners were, we do not know. It is a possibility that your wife could have been among that group."

Nathaniel groaned and leaned back against the wall.  _Vigil's Keep_. Nathaniel had no doubt that his father would take them there. He'd been into the dungeons once or twice while a child, stealthily following his father on one occasion, being given a tour of sorts by the man on another. The devices and methods his sire had shown him that time that were used for interrogation and torture (these were the visible ones. Nathaniel knew that there would be things his father would have kept hidden away if only to keep as a surprise for a later time) were enough to make Nathaniel's stomach lurch. The thought of  _any_ one having to suffer through that, let alone Bryallyn ….

Nathaniel ran a hand over his face again as he continued to process all that he had been told. Bodies left out as a warning to all of what could happen if they did not cooperate with the occupiers. Rumors of survivors. Rumors of prisoners. But how to tell the truth from the lies? He understood all too well that every rumor began with a kernel of truth.

"Galen?" Nathaniel lowered his hand, a sudden path opening before him. If he could not separate the rumors, he would not know where to focus next. "What do you know about what happened that night? Were you there? Was anyone who works here there that night?"  _I need to know what happened …._

"I was not myself," the innkeeper responded, "but Neesie, she was there. She worked in the kitchens up at the castle and arrived for the early morning shift when things started to come apart." Galen turned towards his cousin and murmured a few words before turning back to face Nathaniel. At the same time, Grayson quietly exited the room. "My lord … are you certain you want to hear about that night?" the man hedged.

Nathaniel sighed. He saw Rhyan and Trinion both turn towards him, the looks on their faces asking the same thing. "I am certain," he returned.

Several minutes later, the door opened and two figures walked in. Grayson must have spoken to the girl before returning, Nathaniel thought, for though there was some trepidation in her eyes, there was no fear. Stepping forward, Nathaniel gestured towards the edge of the bed. "Neesie, isn't it?" he asked. When the girl nodded, Nathaniel turned towards the others. "Can you give us some time please?" He didn't think he could do this with everyone else standing around listening.

The others left the room - Highever men electing to go to one of the other rooms that Galen had made available, Rhyan and her Free Marcher companions deciding to chance a visit to the common room first. Closing the door behind them, Nathaniel turned back. "Do you recognize me, Neesie?" he asked as he stepped forward.

The girl nodded. "Aye, m'lord," she replied. "I saw you about on occasion."

Taking a seat and turning to face her, Nathaniel forced himself to remain calm. "Neesie, I need to know what happened that night."

The girl, who couldn't have been a day over eighteen he thought, began to fidget as she sat. "I came in early," she said in a voice that was barely above a whisper and was tinged with fear. "There was extra men, right? And I baked the bread each day, and the Teyrna, she -"

Nathaniel allowed her the time to collect herself. "So you came in early to make extra bread?"

Neesie nodded. "Nan, she sent me to fetch more flour from the larder. I was bringing it back when I heard shouting. Nan was angry about something, or so I thought. That wasn't new or unusual. Then I heard louder yells, men's voices … ones I didn't recognize. I-I stayed in the larder, ser," she sobbed while covering her face. "I - I hid while they … they killed Nan …."

Nathaniel nodded. Anyone who had been up and around the castle that night would have become a target. "Neesie," he said quietly in an attempt to reassure the girl, "you did right by hiding. You obviously survived. And," he added sincerely, "in surviving you have managed to tell your story."

Neesie nodded, a hand lifting to swipe tears away. "I - I suppose," she whispered.

Nathaniel waited a moment and then asked, "Can you tell me anything more? How did you escape? Were there others who fled with you?"

"I-I stayed in the larder," she whispered. "I don't know how long I hid until … until … I heard voices again." She began sobbing again and Nathaniel wondered if they would ever get through the telling. "It … m'lord, it was the Teyrn and another man, one of his guests. Tall, dark …."

The words ignited a surge of hope that rushed through Nathaniel. "The Warden Commander?" he asked. "Duncan?"

"Aye," Neesie returned with a nod. "He was helping the Teyrn. The Teyrn was …." Neesie shook her head sadly. "He was bleeding badly." She pointed to her side, just below her ribs. "He was bad off, m'lord."

Nathaniel groaned. An injury there, without the aid of a healer would be deadly. "What happened then?"

Neesie bit her lip. "The Teyrn … he begged the Commander to find his family … to save them. I - I showed myself then, offered to stay with the Teyrn. The Commander agreed and moved the Teyrn into the larder, told me to keep him in there so we wouldn't be found. He said he would be back …."

Nathaniel rose from the bed and walked over to the window. It was dark out now, the room was dim as well, so he chanced a peek through the curtains. In the distance, he could see Castle Cousland. "Did he return?" he finally asked, his eyes glued to the banner waving in the breeze on the top of the battlements. It would be the bear of Amaranthine, he knew, and he could feel the anger in him growing, solidifying into a heavy resolve. No matter what else happened, he was going to see that his father paid for his crimes.

Neesie turned to follow his progression across the room, it seemed, because he could still hear her voice clearly as she spoke. "I don't know, m'lord. After the Commander left, I tried to help the Teyrn, but he … he … he ordered me to leave, to take the servant's exit and flee." There was a pause and Nathaniel could hear the girl crying softly. "What else could I do?"

Nathaniel pushed away from the window and turned to face her. "You do not know then if the Warden Commander was successful?"

Neesie shook her head. "No, m'lord, I don't. I'm sorry."

Nathaniel shook his head. "Do not be," he told her firmly while battling his own disappointment. "You did as your Teryn instructed, that was as it should be." Nathaniel found himself thinking back on the short time that he had really known his father-in-law. One thing that would forever stay with him, however, was the sense of fairness that the man had shown to any and all he had come into contact with, whether they be king, noble or common-born. It was something Nathaniel had seen personally and was a trait he had witnessed in  _all_  of the Couslands.

Crossing the room to stand before the girl he told her, "I do appreciate your willingness to talk with me, Neesie. Thank you."

Neesie rose then and nodded, understanding that she was being dismissed. "Good night, m'lord," she whispered before exiting the room.

Nathaniel was seated on the bed a short time later, his back against the wall, one leg drawn up with his arm looped around it, his steely blue gaze staring off into the darkness when Trinion and Rhyan entered the room. Trinion approached quietly, taking a nearby chair Rhyan carried over a bowl of stew she had brought up for Nathaniel. "Eat," she told him firmly as she handed it over.

Nathaniel turned his eyes to stare at her a long moment before shifting them towards Trinion. "Is there any sort of justice to be found for them?" he asked. "I have no doubts that my father should pay for his crimes, but killing him outright would do nothing but give him and easy way out, and punishing him any other way does not begin to come close to atoning for all the wrong he has done."

Trinion leaned forward, his arms resting atop his legs. "My lord, I am prepared to leave the final decision to you for several reasons. First, my Lord Cousland trusted you, plain and simple. Though he was an amiable man, he did not give his trust easily. But I know for a fact that he trusted you implicitly."

Nathaniel's brow lifted at that.

"Second, I have been with you since the beginning of this. I have seen you both as prey and hunter. I trust your judgement." Trinion shook his head slightly and concluded, "And third, … Bryallyn. My lady trusts you unequivocally. She is an excellent judge of character as I have seen first hand on many occasions since I met her."

Nathaniel glanced over at Rhyan who was seated on the edge of the bed. Reaching out, he took the bowl of stew from her. Before taking a bite, however, he tossed back at Trinion, "So you want me to be the one to decide?"

Trinion chuckled and tilted his head to face Nathaniel. "I believe the ultimate decision should be yours, yes," he agreed. When he saw that Nathaniel was about to protest, he lifted his hand and continued, "But we have time between now and then, and I am willing to listen and discuss if you feel it necessary."

Nathaniel smirked. "To be my conscience, you mean?"

"Perhaps," came the reply, "though I am beginning to come to a better understanding of how you think. I have no doubts in my mind that you will make the right decision."

Nathaniel fell silent and turned his thoughts inward as he ate. So many things to consider in order to make one important decision. But Trinion was right, he had the time to weigh his options and think it through. The most important thing would be to make the  _right_  decision ….


	40. Lothering Journal: Back Page

_**Firstfall 9:30** _

_**Lothering** _

_I once heard Lothering described as "pretty as a painting." That obviously was before the darkspawn began massing and refugees piling into the town in an effort to escape them. There were so many here when we arrived, I began to think we might just get through the town unnoticed._

_I was mistaken._

_The most obvious hint of trouble came at the tavern - a place called "Dane's Refuge" which really should have warned us, I suppose - when some of Loghain's men attacked us. They were no match for us, really, though whether that says more about our skills as Grey Wardens or their lack of skills as the Teyrn's men I am not quite certain. What I_ _do_ _know is that Wardens are now considered outlaws simply because Loghain has managed to convince everyone that we were responsible for killing the king. What Duncan would have thought of this, I do not know. On the other hand, had Duncan survived, I doubt that we would be in this current situation._

_Duncan. The man was like a father to me. Certainly more so than my own father was. It astounds me, though, that he did not see this coming. He was the Warden Commander! He is supposed to see these things, isn't he? And arguments that "Wardens do not get involved in politics" be damned. He was certain this was a Blight. I'm new enough as a Warden myself that I am not certain by what means he knows all of this, but he did warn me, and there are those dreams (nightmares!) of the archdemon …._

_Perhaps Duncan did not see the treachery afoot because he was so concerned about the lack of Wardens in Ferelden? "We need to stop the Blight here," he told me before he left for Highever. I asked if we could not call for reinforcements, Wardens from Orlais perhaps?_

_Loghain argued against this. I was in one of those meetings once, apart from the others. Bernardo took me with him. I still can't decide if Loghain's arguments were based more on past history and the fact that the Orlesians used to be occupiers, or that he had planned this all along, thinking he could govern better than Cailan._

[[There are a couple of handwritten lines here that are neatly scratched out between paragraphs]]

_Or … maybe Duncan did see what was happening … or at least suspected that Teyrn Loghain could not be trusted. Or could Cailan have seen it? What I mean is … Duncan refused to allow us into the main fighting at Ostagar. Had we done so, we would surely have died along with the others … and the Warden presence in Ferelden would be no longer. I suspect Cailan's concern was (dare I say it?) for the throne? (this thought perhaps frightens me more than any darkspawn horde or confrontation with Loghain) Or, like on so many other occasions, was he simply following Duncan's suggestions? I guess we'll never know. But Duncan … he was focused on the survival of the Order. Could he have planted the idea of sending Bryallyn and myself to Ishal because he_ _knew_ _Loghain would betray Cailan and retreat? If that was the case, why would Duncan not have stopped it from happening?_

_At any rate, there is no point in dwelling on it. What's done is done, and . I do know I will never forgive the Teryn for the death of Duncan, though. And by declaring myself and Bryallyn to be outlaws he leaves us no choice but to call him out publicly to defeat him._

_Bryallyn Cousland-Howe._

_Now there is an interesting woman. Quiet, thoughtful, and yet one used to assuming command. I am almost ashamed that I allowed her to do so, but it happened so quickly and naturally that it was over before I could protest … assuming I wanted to protest - which I didn't. She makes it look so easy, too. Effortless. Is that me taking advantage of the situation? Possibly. But then, I know what will happen should I try to lead … and I have enough issues with Morrigan at the moment, I really don't want to add to the list._

_I have paused to look back at what I have written to this point and realize I have diverted from my main purpose._

_Lothering. I must make mention of seeing Ser Donal, one of Arl Eamon's men, and one of the few who actually remembers me and whom I feel comfortable calling 'friend.' Unfortunately, the news he shared was grave and gives me cause to worry. Arl Eamon has taken gravely ill, it seems. Ill enough that all of the knights of Redcliffe (must be Lady Isolde's idea for certainly there must still be knights present to protect the village and the keep, right?) are out on a quest: to find the ashes of Andraste in order to heal the Arl where healing and magic have failed._

_Now, don't misunderstand me. I am a believer (in my own way, of course, but a believer nonetheless) … but Andraste's Ashes? That seems a bit far fetched. A mythological story used to help support …. Well, never mind. I don't need to be going off on any more tangents. I do think, however, it sounds more like someone wanted the knights away from the castle for some reason. But why? I think as soon as I finish here I shall speak with Bry to see if we could go to Redcliffe first. Just to make certain some sort of politically sponsored plot isn't afoot …._

_As we departed Lothering today, two separate incidents occurred which gave us all (including our two newest companions) cause for worry. The first happened as we were barely beyond the boundaries of the town. We were confronted by a group of … well, I suppose technically the term to use would be 'bounty hunters,' though in actuality they were simply men - refugees by looks of most of them - desperate to find ways to feed their families. They had overheard Loghain's men announcing a price upon our heads. Given their circumstances, I could not blame them, and I know that I saw regret in Bry's eyes. But what else could we do? We had to defend ourselves._

_The second incident in many ways was even more interesting. We were entering the Imperial Highway on the other side of Lothering when we came upon a couple of dwarves under attack by darkspawn. To begin with, it worries me greatly that darkspawn already can be found this close to Lothering. If small bands are already reaching the town, the main body cannot be far behind. I pray the people there leave quickly._

_There were only a few darkspawn and given the increase in size of our party, it did not overwhelm us in any way. But the dwarves - surface merchants originally from Orzammar it seems - appreciated our timely assistance. They thanked us profusely before going along their way. However, no sooner had we all made camp for the night than the two ambled up, cart and all, and joined us. In return for staying in the relative safety of our camp, they will give us a discount on their merchandise, they say. I don't know how frequent their visits will be, but I suspect that they will come in handy, offering us as much assistance if not more than we offered them. As a matter of fact, I should go and speak with them now. I thought I saw a wheel of Ferelden cheddar in that cart …._


	41. Interview With A Crow

With each passing day, since the man's return from the mess that had been Ostagar, he had been observing the Regent becoming more surly, scowling at anyone and everything who moved around him, even beginning to lose his temper with whomever happened to be near.

He'd begun respectably enough: authoritative with the gathered nobles, explaining what needed to be done and brooking no opposition, not even from the most outspoken of the bunch, Bann Teagan Guerrin. Rendon could admire that. The way the man kept his daughter in line, a woman whose personality was much like her sire's, was commendable and Rendon actually found that he was learning a few things that he could take with him back to Amaranthine to use in keeping Delilah in line.

Later, when approached with concerns regarding the reactions of certain of the Banns and Arls, again most notably Teagan Guerrin, Loghain Mac Tir had told him flat out not to worry, that the Bann of Rainesfere would soon have more important things to worry about. He did not dare question the Regent as to what he had meant by this (if he had wanted it known, he would have said something explicit). That had earned him a promotion of rank, so to speak. No longer was he simply Arl of Amaranthine, but Arl of Denerim as well. This gave him the ear of the Regent, someone to whom he could feed his pieces and parts, the threads of plots and plans being woven together in such a way that no one would realize that he was behind it all until it was too late.

And then came word that Wardens had survived Ostagar. Two that were known of, according to the messenger who had returned from Lothering. A man and a woman, both fearsome fighters. The Regent's eyes had darkened with the news, his snarl becoming a barking growl. That was when a spark of an idea began in the back of his mind.  _Take the initiative, relieve the man of his worries. It will earn you more respect, further advancement._

It took only a matter of hours for the basics of the plot to develop in his head. No, the real length of time had been in making the initial contact. When finally he discovered with whom he should speak, Rendon had made the journey to the Gnawed Noble, made his request and paid the fee. Within another fortnight he would be contacted by a member of the organization, he was promised.

The contact came and was the reason for his presence at  _The King's Crown_  this evening. An establishment of middling reputation and even less influence despite it's royal sounding name, it was the perfect place for such a meeting. He arrived early and was shown to the private room that had been arranged. He poured himself a measure of drink (the nice thing about the private rooms was that they had a better selection from which to choose) and then he settled in to wait.

His contact arrived early, apparently of a similar mind. Rendon had half hidden himself in the shadows (not a skill for which he was well known) and did not realize until a quiet voice with the silken lilt of Antiva murmured, "The target you have in mind is more of a challenge for one of my skill, si?" Otherwise, my dear Arl, I should think your coin could be spent more effectively."

Rendon would not openly admit to being caught off guard. "Trust me, my friend," subtly reminding the man of the status of their relationship, "your targets will be enough of a challenge for you."

The man's chuckle exuded self-assurance. "That is good," he returned as he stepped out of the shadows and into the light. Giving Rendon a slight bow, the blond elf (for he suddenly recognized the man's pointed ears) announced, "Zevran Arainai, Crow assassin, at your service." Zevran reached for a pouch at his belt and soon produced two folded pieces of parchment. "Copies of the contract," he explained, "as negotiated with Master Ignacio. All that is required is your signature."

Rendon took the two documents and read through them quickly. Nodding slightly, he crossed the room to the writing desk and retrieved ink, quill and sealing wax. Within moments, both documents were official.

Zevran retrieved only one of the two documents, folding it and replacing it in its pouch. "Now then," he murmured as he poured himself a drink, "what more can you tell me about these  _…_ Wardens, hmm?"

Rendon's smile was nothing short of evil. "There are two: a woman and a man. They are currently traveling in company of a mabari and another woman," he explained. "The latest intelligence suggests that there is the potential for one other woman to be with them, a Chantry sister."

Rendon swirled the drink in his glass for a moment watching as the amber liquid spiraled into a vortex. "The sister has bright red hair and uses two daggers with which to fight." He lifted his gaze to look upon his companion.

Zevran chuckled. "A sister who fights back? Intriguing. Tell me more."

Rendon began wandering over towards the window, peering out through a slit in the curtains. "Both of the other women have dark hair. One uses blades, the other we believe to be an apostate witch." As he stared out into the darkness, he found himself wondering at the truth to these statements. They were relying upon information from men who had been bested, who had chosen to flee rather than face their death. Their lives had been spared so that the message would get to the capital. But could the information be trusted?

"And the fourth?"

Rendon snorted. From the description he had overheard, he had no doubts about the man's identity. But  _…_  what to reveal. "He is blond. Tall, uses a sword and shield." Rendon gave the assassin a considering look. "If he is who I have been led to believe he is, he is a warrior of considerable skill."

Another chuckle. "My dear Arl," the elf murmured, "are you not familiar with the capabilities and methods of the Crows?"

Rendon snorted. "By reputation, of course, or I would not have sought you out."

A smile spread across the elf's face then. "Then trust me, my friend. I am more than up to the challenge."

Rendon turned from the window and stared at the elf for a long moment then, taking his measure. There was no doubt that the man was confident. The Crows had a reputation to uphold, an international reputation. He did not doubt that the man had skills either. And, if rumor had it right, he had all the charm and charisma to go with it, enough to get him through any situation that might arise.

Crossing the room to the table, Rendon set his drink down and turned towards the elf one last time. "Tomorrow, mid-morning. Be up at the palace. We will present the plan to the Regent then. It is only with [i]his[/i] approval that this moves forward, understood?"

Zevran nodded once, a half smirk forming on his lips. "And if the approval is not given?"

Rendon felt a slow smile move across his face then. "Oh, he will," he murmured in return. "I have no doubts on that. But this must look as if it comes from him."

Again Zevran nodded. "Understood. I shall see you then, my lord," he murmured before turning to exit the room.

In the half moment between looking at the table where he was setting his glass and lifting his head to stare at the closed door, he noted that the elf had disappeared. The Arl decided not to question it and simply tossed back the remaining liquid in his glass before he, too, left the room. He still had work to do.


	42. On The Run

Nathaniel was pulled from a sound sleep by the feel of a soft hand sliding over his mouth and a firm grasping pressure at his shoulder. His eyes snapped open instantly, his body jerking awake, to find Rhyan kneeling beside the bed. "Get dressed quickly," she breathed in a quiet whisper near his ear before she rolled back onto her heels and rose to her feet. "We have to leave now."

Nathaniel reacted without thinking. He was out of the bed quickly, donning his armor as quietly as he was able, his hands all too familiar with the buckles. Arming himself next, he shouldered the rest of his gear and followed after Rhyan within a matter of moments. From the years they had spent training together it did not occur to him to hesitate. He knew she would not approach him in such a manner if it was not necessary. As she led him quietly down the back steps of the inn, he did not speak nor question her. His trust was absolute.

They were met at the foot of the staircase by Grayson who motioned for them to move towards the door. Within minutes the three were slipping through the side alleys of Highever in the dim lighting of early morning; around corners, down alley ways, behind homes or businesses they moved, always silent.

After what seemed an eternity, they finally arrived at a run down, ramshackle of a building that was, as far as Nathaniel could tell, on the far side of the town and directly overlooking the cliffs. Grayson led the way, then Rhyan and finally Nathaniel who secured the door behind him. Instinct had him reaching for a broom he found nearby and wedging it in such a manner as to make whoever might follow them have a more difficult time of it trying to enter.

Nathaniel paid no heed to the dimly lit surroundings as he followed after Grayson and Rhyan moments later. He found them before yet another secret entrance to the tunnels below, or so he assumed. Grayson handed Nathaniel a torch and indicated he should enter first. Nathaniel did so, quickly, leading the way down before turning back to assist Rhyan and then Grayson who brought up the rear and secured the portal. "The others?" he ventured quietly once the barricade was sealed behind them.

"They must leave town as they entered, my lord. Keep suspicion to a minimum."

Nathaniel nodded, though he did chance a sideways glance towards Rhyan, wondering why she was not with the others. Grayson moved to the front then, no further comment or question, and began leading the way through the twining maze of tunnels that at first seemed to lead back in towards town … or at least as far as Nathaniel could surmise it did. Trying to determine direction while surrounded by walls of stone was difficult to say the least. Once or twice, Nathaniel thought he might vaguely recognize a juncture of paths, an indent in the stone surface of the walls or the particular narrowing of a tunnel reminding him of his previous trip into Highever, but in the end he knew that he had to be imagining it. However, he did come to the conclusion during this time that, should they ever free Highever from its occupiers and he make a return, he would insist upon the others teaching him these paths. This was something that needed to be kept alive for the people who lived here.

The journey was conducted in silence. When at last they exited the tunnels, Nathaniel found that they were in a different location than when he and Grayson had entered two days previous.  _Had it only been two days?_  This gateway was further eastwards down the beach, closer towards the area where he and Bryallyn had snuck off to before his departure to the Free Marches years before. Frowning, Nathaniel remained in the shadows as he waited on Grayson to seal the entrance.

"This way, my lord," the voice finally bade him.

They were headed in the opposite direction from whence they had come. Nathaniel paused. "Why this way?" he asked. He did not want to start doubting the man, he had no real reason to as of yet, other than the mystery surrounding their departure, yet instinct had him asking the question.

"We will meet the others outside of Highever on the eastern side, my lord. Well away from town."

"But surely the Arl's men patrol that area more thickly than they do to the west?" It made a kind of sense, with the area to the east situated between Highever and Amaranthine.

Grayson paused a moment longer to explain. "My lord, your father's men have tight rein on most lands north of the Imperial Highway. East or west, we face the same danger. If we go to the east, however, there is a route we can take south through the mountains into the Bannorn. This route is known only to a select few."

Nathaniel's brow lifted and he chanced a glance at Rhyan. She seemed interested by this as well. "And you happen to be one of those few?" he challenged.

Grayson actually chuckled and allowed his amusement to show for a moment. "No, my lord. However, Trinion does."

To say that he was startled would have been an understatement, though Nathaniel could give no exact reasoning as to why. Keeping his reaction to himself, he nodded at Grayson to take the lead since he apparently knew the direction they were headed. In this situation, he was a follower, not the leader.

The journey took them some time, however. With emphasis on remaining silent, it was inevitable that travel time was sacrificed. They were still close enough to Highever itself to be concerned about Howe patrols out and about, though Nathaniel soon came to realize that his father's men had either fallen down on the job or simply had not considered the beach an area worthy of concern as he, Grayson and Rhyan encountered nothing and no one out of the ordinary along the way. Nathaniel himself, felt a bit conflicted about this. On the one hand, he knew that his father would be irate should he discover such a breach in the security coverage of Highever. But then again, Nathaniel considered himself to be a part of the opposition now and found that this lack of interest by the Amaranthine soldiers was fortune in their favor.  _Best not to look a gift horse in the mouth,_  Adria had once told him. Never had that statement made more sense to him than at this moment in time.

Still and all, upon their arrival at the rendez-vous point, the threesome found themselves to be the first to arrive. Once this realization was made, they found a somewhat hidden spot where they could remain more or less out of sight until the others arrived. And arrive they did, in fits and starts, until all of their party was accounted for. Trinion was one of the last to arrive as the sun continued to steadily rise, but when he did, he found Nathaniel and pulled him aside. "Normally, I would suggest waiting until sunset or until night has fallen to move, but Galen seemed sure of his source." Trinion gave Nathaniel a hard look. "We must move now. Someone alerted the men at the castle that some of Highever's men had returned."

Nathaniel's look darkened. He wanted to ask who - who would dare do such a thing? Who would betray the Teyrn and Teyrna in such a manner? - but he knew that it would be pointless since there was nothing they could do about it now. It would be up to the citizens of Highever to take care of the situation from that end of things. For now, they had to keep moving. "Grayson says you have a path for us to follow?" he queried quickly.

Trinion nodded and explained, "Through the mountains, my lord. There are a series of tunnels beneath; underground passages, leading from one side to another. These passages are known to none except those who are familiar with the area."

"And you are?" Rhyan's voice piped up as she joined them then.

Trinion looked over at her for a long moment before nodding. "My family is from the area. As a boy, I grew up learning my way in and out and through the passages. It is how we were able to get from our village to the Imperial Highway." He turned to look at Nathaniel again. "We should discuss where to go next," he added, "but not just yet. Right now, we must get away from here."

Nathaniel nodded. He already had a firm idea of where he wanted to go next anyway. First things first. "Lead on, then," he told Trinion. "We will follow."

The journey took them south and east of Highever, through the mountainous region of the north Coast-lands. Late on the second day, Trinion was leading them beneath the rocky peaks and into the series of tunnels that, he told them, would end up on the other side near the Imperial Highway. As they traveled, Nathaniel stayed near Trinion who, while not telling him in exact detail where they were or the route they were taking, at least explained a bit more regarding the need for secrecy for the place.

"Many of these tunnels are abandoned mining paths," Trinion explained. "Over the years, the people of my village and a few neighboring ones expanded on some of them, connecting them together so that, particularly in times of bad weather or other difficulty, we would still be connected. In more recent times, their need has fallen to the wayside, but I am thankful today that I was taught them."

Nathaniel nodded in the dim light from the torch, but said nothing for a moment. There was something in the back of his mind … some story his grandfather had once told him …. "Isn't there an old Grey Warden fortress or something near here?" he finally asked, tilting his head to glance at his companion. "I remember bits and pieces of a story my grandfather once told … something about the ... Drydens, wasn't it?"

Trinion chuckled. "Yes, my lord, something like that. While I do not know the details myself," Trinion only smiled at Nathaniel's look of disbelief, "I do know that the Peak is in this general area. Where exactly has been a closely guarded secret for generations. I am not one of the privileged."

They continued on, the journey through the tunnels taking them about three days in and of itself, until finally Trinion announced that they had reached the far side and led them above ground into the fresh air. As they exited, Nathaniel looked around, not so much to take note of the location (as expert a tracker as he was, he realized that even if he found his way into the tunnels by himself at some later date, he would not be able to make it to the other side without guidance) as to note the conditions. The sky was overcast and a dreary mist seemed to have blanketed the land. It was difficult to tell the time of day, given the current weather conditions, but Nathaniel estimated it to be near sunset. "We need to find a place to make camp," he told Trinion.

His companion agreed. "This way, my lord. There is a sheltered area I've used many a time in my youth not too far away. Then we should discuss where to go next."

The location Trinion had in mind was only a couple of hours away and upon arrival, the camp was quickly established. Given the size of their party, this process took less time than if it had been a smaller group. After the needs of the group had been met - food, drink, rest - it was time for discussion of their next move. Rhyan, Trinion and Nathaniel sat near the fire while Grayson and one other, stood watch on the perimeter, while the others settled down to rest until their appointed watch times. The mist had evolved into a steady drizzle by this point, but that was nothing new to those who had grown up in Ferelden, though Nathaniel and Trinion did exchange a quick look of silent amusement at some of the mutterings Rhyan made about the dampness.

"Right then," Nathaniel began once they were settled. "My thought is this: The best information we have indicates that Bryallyn might have escaped with the Warden Commander and gone south, to Ostagar." He took a deep breath and glanced at them for a long moment. "As I have no idea of my father's current whereabouts - he was supposedly heading to Ostagar as well, remember - I would suggest that we head there ourselves. Fergus Cousland and the majority of troops from Highever, were supposed to be there, as well as the king, This would be the logical destination, if only so that we can report what has happened to King Cailan himself. We also  _must_  find out if any of the Couslands yet live." Nathaniel sighed heavily then, running a hand over his face for a moment.

The silence lasted for a few moments, until Trinion spoke up next. "By which route do you intend to travel?" he queried. When he noted Nathaniel's frown of confusion, he clarified, "Highever troops would have traveled down the west side of Lake Calenhad to get to Ostagar. That is a journey of some weeks, it would take us at least a week or so to simply get to the north end as a starting point. Is this the route you wish to take? We could also travel down the eastern side of the lake, which might not be a bad idea as we can stop at a place I know to restock our supplies. Or, for a third option, we could take the most direct route and travel straight down the center of the Bannorn."

Nathaniel nodded once he realized what Trinion was asking. "I have no idea if the battle at Ostagar has been waged yet," he told them, though he knew if the shared visions he'd had with his wife were any indication, the battle had been lost some weeks before. "Nor do I know the outcome. What I do know is this: we must get there and soon." Another pause. A moment for silent debate. "We will travel the eastern side of the lake," he decided at last. "We should stock up on supplies if and when we can as we have no idea when we will find such opportunity again. If the battle has been met, is over and the troops are returning," he shared a look with Trinion at the thought of what those troops would be walking into, "I'm afraid the Highever contingent will have to figure out the situation on their own."

"And if your wife and Fergus is with them?"

Rhyan's question caused Nathaniel to pause momentarily. "It is a chance we must take," he decided. "Hopefully, by traveling the closer path we will be able to get to Ostagar and find them in time. If not, we find the king and report all that has happened to him and then decide the next phase of the plan."

Nathaniel rose to his feet then, turning to look out towards the south.  _Bryallyn,_  he called silently,  _are you down there? Are you safe? I thought you surely dead, but … rumors and dreams give me hope. Is this a fool's errand? Am I so determined to find you alive that I am forsaking better alternatives?_

A hand at his shoulder pulled Nathaniel back to the present and he turned to find Rhyan there, alone. "You should get some rest, Nate," she told him.

Nathaniel shook his head. "I can't," he returned. "Not yet, at any rate. My head is …," he moved a hand in front of his face in a circular fashion, "I have too much on my mind," he concluded with the hope that she would understand.

Rhyan appeared to, for she released him and nodded. "Then take first watch. Wake me when it is my turn." She turned to leave, pausing as she glanced back over her shoulder and added, "And I do mean wake me. You must get some rest if you are to continue leading us."

Nathaniel nodded and gave her a half-hearted smile. "I will try," he offered, which was all that he could do. He would not make a promise that he could not keep.


	43. The Road to Redcliffe

"How many days from Redcliffe are we, do you think?" Bryallyn asked as she sat near the fire drinking a cup of tea and wishing the weather would change for the better, … or at least 'warmer.' It wouldn't, she knew that. At least, not for a long while. As far south towards the Uncharted Territories as they were, it would not warm up to anything remotely or reasonably close to 'warm' for months. As a matter of fact, Bryallyn recalled, the seasons were actually on their way towards winter. That thought had her shuddering just a bit. The realization that colder weather would soon be on it's way was not appealing … particularly given what she and the others needed to accomplish in the upcoming months. A sigh and a sip later, she pushed away the grumbling thoughts that wanted to make themselves present and focused her attentions on to her companion instead.

Alistair was seated nearby, slowly and methodically working on his armor. Lothering and the events there were two days behind them now. After all that had happened, Bryallyn found her thoughts drifting to the men who had attacked them in the tavern. She had let them go, to 'deliver a message' to Loghain and she wondered if they would and if so, when he would receive that message. For his part, Alistair paused in his work, tilting his head to the side for a moment and pondered her question. "No more than two days, I should think," he replied as he reached for another piece of armor. "Possibly less than that as we're making pretty good time."

"Hmmm," was Bry's neutral response as she sat back to think some more. She had her journal spread out across her lap and a pencil in hand that she was using to tap against her lips at the moment.

"Is that a problem?"

Alistair's question pulled Bryallyn back from thoughts that had been meandering aimlessly. For whatever reason, she was having trouble focusing this evening. "Oh! No, not at all. I'm sorry." She saw her fellow Warden offer her a smile of understanding and she couldn't help but return it. "But … I am curious," she continued then. "You were so adamant about heading to Redcliffe first, about enlisting Arl Eamon's assistance. I mean, I understand the concern about him being ill and all, though I must admit that I think Ser Donal is right in that their quest for Andraste's Ashes is a bit on the extreme side, but still …." She could remember clearly Alistair's insistence that they head to Redcliffe first, his protest when Morrigan had suggested visiting the elves or heading to the dwarves instead. (Interestingly enough, and Bry knew that Morrigan was well aware of her condition and that they required a healing mage, Flemeth's daughter had made no suggestion of going to the Tower just yet.)

Alistair sighed and set the rest of his work aside. He rose and moved around the fire to sit a bit closer to Bryallyn, his voice dropping in volume just a bit as he sat and began, "I told you before how I Arl Eamon raised me, right?"

Bryallyn nodded. "Though, as I recall, you later tried to claim it was a pack of dogs … from the Anderfels, wasn't it?" She saw him blush slightly, but he accepted the teasing.

"Yes, well … anyway … truth is, there is more to the story. I didn't say anything before because … well, because it's a moot point, really."

Bryallyn frowned as she tried to follow what he was saying. "What is?" she asked softly. Reaching out, she rested a hand on his forearm in an effort to calm him. "Alistair, is there something you haven't told me?"

He lifted his hand and rubbed the back of his neck in a gesture of nervousness. "Yes, actually," he finally admitted. "You see, … Arl Eamon took me in and raised me … because … well, because my mother was a serving girl at the castle and my father … well … my father was King Maric."

Bryallyn stared at him blankly for a moment as she sorted through his words.  _King Maric?_  "You … you're King Cailan's ... brother?" she whispered in astonishment.

His face seemed to redden even more. "Half-brother," he muttered in clarification.

Bryallyn closed her journal and set it aside before she turned to face him eye to eye. "I want to make certain I understand this," she told him quietly and without judgement, quickly looking around him to make certain no one was eavesdropping nearby. Sten was on watch at the far end of the camp she saw, Constant at his side which Bryallyn found interesting and perhaps something to investigate later. Leliana had gone off to bathe in a nearby pond, and Morrigan was in her own little camp that she had set up a bit apart from the rest and appeared to be occupied brewing her potions and what all she worked on each night they made camp. Looking up at Alistair, Bryallyn caught his gaze and held it as she said in a soft voice, "You are telling me then that you are of royal blood?"

Bryallyn watched him closely for his reaction, his previous comments having already given her an indication of his thoughts on the matter. "I … I would have told you, Bry, but … it never really meant anything to me. I was 'inconvenient.' A possible threat to Cailan's rule, and so they kept me secret. I've never talked about it to anyone before."

Bryallyn continued to watch him closely.  _And yet you chose to tell me …._

"Everyone who knew either resented me for it," Bry found herself recalling his comments to her previously about Lady Isolde's reaction and his subsequent departure for the Templars at age ten, "or they coddled me. Even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it." He sighed then, a heavy, weighted sound, almost sounding wounded.  _And perhaps he is at that_ , she mused as she recalled his reaction to Duncan telling them to go to the Tower of Ishal instead of onto the fields of Ostagar during the battle. "I didn't want you to know for as long as possible. I'm sorry."

Bryallyn's eyes closed for a moment, her mind working furiously over what he had just told her. "I think … I understand, Alistair," she told him quietly. Opening her eyes again, she offered him a slight smile. "In a way … we are in a similar situation, don't you think? I mean … you know things about me, about my … current situation that no one else knows." She heard him sigh then and thought it sounded a bit relieved this time.

Alistair hesitated as he started to speak, biting back his words for just a moment, but then forced himself to continue. "I suppose we are …. Besides," he added, turning the topic back to him and away from the potential for disaster with a discussion about Rendon Howe, "It's not like I got special treatment for it anyhow."

Bryallyn's smile softened. "No … not from what you told me," she agreed. They sat in silence for a time, both turning to face the fire again, each to their own thoughts. After a while, Bryallyn glanced askance at him before smirking slightly and echoing his earlier comment, "So … you're not just a bastard … but a royal bastard then?"

For just a brief moment, Bryallyn had to wonder if she had misjudged him, the situation, because the silence around them suddenly seemed to grow thick with tension … but it did not last. With one of his characteristic lopsided smiles, Alistair's chuckle started deep and soft, growing incrementally until his shoulders began shaking with amusement. The moment she heard it, Bryallyn relaxed, allowing herself a laugh as well. The tension dissipated then and he finally replied, "Ha! Ha! Yes, I guess it does mean that, doesn't it?" Nudging her gently with his shoulder until she fell over to her side laughing (an overly dramatic move on her part, but it was part of the fun!), he added with a grin, "I should use that line more often."

Bryallyn remained on her side then, adjusting her position to something more comfortable, though her focus stayed upon her fellow Warden. "At any rate, that's it," he concluded after a time. "That's what I wanted to tell you. I decided you should know all about it just in case … well …."

Bryallyn nodded and turned to stare into the fire. Cutting off his thoughts, she teased softly, "Are you certain, Alistair? You aren't hiding anything else, are you?"

She could still hear amusement in his tone and was relieved he had taken her words as they had been intended: light, easy and something to joke about. "Besides my unholy love of fine cheeses and a minor obsessions with my hair -"

"Minor?" Bryallyn cut him off with just a touch of indignation. "Never have I seen  _anyone_  who -"

"No," he cut right back. "That's it. Just the prince thing."

Snickering quietly, Bryallyn pushed it just a bit further. "So, should I be calling you Prince Alistair then?" It didn't take long to realize that she'd mis-spoken. Alistair went very quiet and when Bryallyn glanced over at him, he seemed incredibly ill at ease and slightly pale. Backtracking just a bit, she offered more gently, "Do you not think you might have a larger role to play now?"

It took him a moment to pull himself together, but Alistair was fairly quick to reply, "I have no illusions, Bry, about my status. It has always been made  _very_  clear to me that I am a commoner and now a Grey Warden and in no way in line for the throne."

"Times change as circumstances dictate," Bryallyn pointed out firmly. "With both Maric and Cailan gone, you are the only remaining member of the royal bloodline. I should think it wouldn't matter whether your mother was a commoner or that you were a Grey Warden." Tilting her head to look over at him, she added, "You are the blood heir, Alistair. This is something you must consider."

Again, he seemed to pale. Almost immediately, his head began shaking back and forth in a negative manner. "No, if there's an heir to be found, it's Arl Eamon."

 _That_  caused Bryallyn to sit upright once more. "Arl Eamon?" She knew her voice sounded almost incredulous, but she could not help it. When King Maric had gone missing five years before, even though Cailan was a viable contender for the throne, it had been her father whom the people had wanted to take on the role of kingship. Bryce had refused, insisting that the line of Calenhad continue, yet … the thought of having the kingship pass to Arl Eamon ….

"He's not of royal blood," Alistair admitted, "but he's Cailan's uncle … and more importantly, he's very popular with the people."

Bryallyn looked away from him for a moment. It wasn't that she wished the arl ill or anything, nor did she think he would be a bad choice …. It was simply that Alistair seemed so off-handed in his manner … or maybe it was his easy dismissal of his role? She would have to think on this more, perhaps try to offer him more to consider.

"Though, … if he is really as sick as we've heard. No," Alistair's voice hardened just a bit. "I don't want to think about that. I really don't."

Swallowing any irritation she might feel, Bryallyn sat back up then and turned to face him once more. "You are going to have to consider it, Alistair," she told him firmly. She saw a look of sheer panic hit him then and she hurried on. "I don't mean right this moment, and certainly you would not be alone. But, think on this and perhaps it will give you some sort of guidance: right now, with King Cailan gone, and the very real possibility of Arl Eamon being seriously ill, you are the country's best option to remove Loghain's influence. I am not naive enough to suggest that it would be an easy task, nor one that we would be able to head into without some sort of support … just think on it. You knew Cailan. If you knew him, you know of Queen Anora. Do you  _really_  want her running the country with her father as her advisor or, worse yet, as regent?"

Rising to her feet then, Bryallyn gave him one more look before sighing softly and turning to walk in the direction of Sten and Constant who were still patrolling the camp.

As she neared the pair, Bryallyn noted that Sten had knelt down in front of Constant and they appeared to be having a 'discussion' of sorts. Remaining back a few paces so as not to interrupt them, Bryallyn tilted her head in curiosity as she observed Sten growling at her hound. Though confused on her own part, Bry noted that Constant seemed to understand. Her hound began growling in a similar manner, leaning forward slightly, responding to the huge Qunari. Sten growled some more then, his volume and intensity increasing to which Bryallyn noticed the hound hold the man's gaze before barking happily a few times.

"You are a true warrior and worthy of respect," Bryallyn heard Sten tell the animal then. Constant barked again, bowing his head slightly in his acceptance and appreciation of the acknowledgment. It was obviously a moment of bonding between the two, and one in which Bryallyn decided it would be best to leave them. Turning off to her right, she started towards her tent instead. Though still early for the night, she was on third watch and decided that it would be in her best interest to get as much rest as she could while opportunity presented itself.

Halfway there, Bryallyn came upon Leliana who was seated outside her tent combing through hair damp from her bathing before turning to re-plait the small braid she wore to the side. "Good evening, Warden," she greeted with a smile. "Would you like to sit for a while?"

Bryallyn agreed and took a seat as Leliana began speaking softly, asking of the evening. Bryallyn responded in kind and the conversation continued, eventually turned around to a discussion regarding Leliana and her time in the Lothering chantry. Bryallyn found herself smiling and even laughing as their talk continued. As she did so, she came to the realization of just how talented the woman's skill in storytelling was.  _No wonder she is a minstrel_ , Bryallyn thought as she listened to the tale of Aveline.  _And no doubt a successful one._  Bryallyn felt herself relaxing completely as she listened.

And then, almost before she noticed it, the discussion turned to Flemeth. Bryallyn listened to Leliana's story, tossing a glance or two in the direction of Morrigan's camp to see if the younger witch could hear them and if she would react. Either she did not hear them or she did not care (or perhaps both) for Morrigan paid them no heed.

Their talk continued, jumping topics periodically, until it fell upon a discussion, of all things, hairstyles. "Here," Leliana urged, assisting Bryallyn to turn to face away from her, "let me brush your hair out for you." Their talk of hairstyles continued leading Leliana off onto another tangent, this one about a lady in Orlais who wore live birds in her hair (Bryallyn shuddered inwardly at the thought). Bryallyn made mental notes of these discussions as she learned little things about the Orlesian … Little pieces that added up into a larger, more complete picture about the musician and storyteller.

And then their talk turned towards … shoes? Bryallyn felt her body jerk up all of a sudden.  _Why shoes? Even she thinks they think the silly trends are often ridiculous!_

"... clunky, fur-lined leather boots you have in Ferelden … ugh! Just look at them!"

Bry was so startled, she did just that. "What's wrong with my boots?" she asked.

"They're sturdy shoes," the minstrel clarified quickly, "but sometimes, a girl just wants to have pretty feet." She then launched into a description of a pair of boots she had been eyeing in Orlais before she left. Bryallyn found her focus drifting. Between the comforting sound of the Leliana's voice and the brush moving through her hair, she was finding herself almost falling asleep.

Bryallyn listened a bit longer until she could not stop herself from yawning widely. Lifting a hand to cover her mouth, she sighed softly before turning to glance over her shoulder at her friend. "I'm sorry," she murmured apologetically.

"No, no," Leliana assured her with a soft smile and a quick shooing motion of her hands. "Go on and get some sleep. Talking is fun but we can do it again another time."

Bryallyn nodded as she rose to her feet and turned towards her tent once more. With a wave, she left Leliana still seated outside her tent and singing softly before moving across the camp. She was met at the entrance by Constant who barked a decidedly happy greeting at her. Bryallyn ruffled the dog's fur behind his ears and murmured affectionately, "So, you have decided it's bedtime too, did you?" Opening the flap to the tent, she added teasingly, "Go on … might as well make yourself useful as a tent warmer." Following her hound inside, Bryallyn soon settled down for some rest, Constant curled nearby and offering his warmth and his presence as comfort. Despite passing the evening in good company and getting to know her companions better, Bryallyn still found her heart yearning for her husband. Before closing her eyes, she glanced down at her ring, still on her finger where he had placed it just weeks before, and sent a silent prayer to the Maker. Sleep managed to capture her half way through.


	44. Roadside Rejoinder

It was going to be one of those days, Bryallyn thought as their party walked along. She had suspected as much when, over an hour before she was needed to cover her watch, she'd been woken from a sound sleep by a horrific nightmare. The dream had been horrible, the same roaring and threatening sounds that had come to her during the Joining … only worse. And this time, she'd been alone. She had not detected Nathaniel's presence at all, and that in itself disturbed her perhaps more than the dream itself had.

She had stood her watch, paired with Leliana that night, and it had remained quiet, thankfully. The two women had talked some more, in hushed tones so as not to disturb the others. Bryallyn was really beginning to think there was more to this minstrel-turned-Chantry sister than met the eye, but she kept such thoughts to herself for the moment. She had listened to Leliana tell her more about Orlais, mostly through her stories, and yet … there had been something else there too that, had she been well rested, Bryallyn might have been able to decipher. It had almost been like Leliana had been waiting on Bryallyn to invite her to talk about something specific, something that ….

Bryallyn frowned as she stumbled over an exposed tree root. A strong hand at her elbow kept her from falling, though, and she turned to glance up at Alistair. Smiling her thanks, she murmured, "I guess I need to pay more attention."

His smile was warm and reassuring as he joked, "But if you do that, then what damsel shall need my assistance? Hmm?" He gestured ahead of them towards Leliana. "Our Orlesian friend over there is much more capable of looking after herself than I ever would be, I should think. Did you actually  _see_  her in action back in Lothering? Is there  _any_  question of what her occupation must have been before she found the Chantry?"

Bryallyn chuckled and shook her head. "Alistair -"

"Or  _that_  one," he continued on with a quick head tilt backwards in Morrigan's direction as if Bryallyn hadn't spoken at all. "If I were to try to assist  _her_  in any way, you know full well she'd turn me into … well … into something horrible … and wretched … and -"

"You've done a fine enough job of that on your own account," the witch called forward then. "You certainly do not require  _my_  assistance." Bryallyn looked up at Alistair to gauge his response and was glad to see him snort off a smirk of amusement as he guided her on, her arm now linked through his. They continued on in silence for a short distance until Alistair spoke up again, this time his demeanor a bit more on the serious side. "Bry, seriously though, are you all right? You seem a bit … distracted today."

Bryallyn sighed, not surprised in the least that he had noticed. Whether it was something he had picked up because they shared the taint, or simply because he was a kind and decent person capable of reading a person's mood didn't matter. The fact was that he knew. "I'm fine," she assured him quickly, tossing him a smile and hoping it would way-lay his concerns. Looking up at him, she realized by his raised brow that her words had done nothing of the sort. Sighing, she offered a half-hearted smile and shrugged lightly. "I … didn't sleep well," she finally admitted.

A knowing look passed over his face then, one in which she could almost see the light of understanding in his eyes as he made the connection, whatever it might be. Tilting her head to the side, she waited for him to continue. "Bad dreams, huh?" he asked.

Bryallyn nodded. "Yes," she admitted reluctantly. "Thing is," she continued, a bit of confusion evident in her voice, "it seemed so real. And, it wasn't about what I'd thought it would be …." She struggled to find a way to explain. "I've become … somewhat used to having nightmares about Highever, about our escape and -" her breath caught just a bit, "the loss of my family. This … this was something entirely different …."

Alistair's smile was understanding if somewhat rueful. "Well, it is .. sort of," he returned quietly. "You see, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn."

This caused Bryallyn to frown a bit and blink. "Hear them?" she echoed.

He nodded in affirmation. "That is what your dream was. Hearing them. The archdemon it … 'talks' to the horde and we 'hear' it just as they do."

Something clicked in her head with his words. "The taint!" she whispered.

Again he nodded. "And  _that_  is why we know this is really a Blight. We know for certain an archdemon is behind this … and you only have an archdemon around if there is a Blight."

Bryallyn remained silent for a moment as they walked along, digesting all that he had just told her. "The archdemon? Is that the … the dragon?" she asked after a moment.

Alistair nodded and chuckled a bit, though he was quick to add, "I don't know if it's really a dragon, but it sure looks like one. But to answer your question, yes, that is the archdemon."

They walked some more in silence then, Bryallyn still sorting things through her head. "And this … these dreams,  _nightmares_ , will continue for … how long?" she asked after a time. "Just during the Blight? Forever?"

Alistair sighed softly, almost reluctantly, before he began explaining. "It takes a bit, but eventually you can block the dreams out," he replied without actually answering her question. "Some of the older Grey Wardens say they can even understand the archdemon a bit, but I sure can't."

Bryallyn felt a bit of horror at that thought for some reason and could not hold back a shudder.  _Understand that beast? Why would anyone want to be able to do that?_   _Though, being able to understand its intentions would be handy_.  _But still …._

Bryallyn decided it was time to discuss something else because the thoughts about understanding the archdemon were beginning to make her nauseous. Whether that had to do with the subject or the fact she was pregnant she didn't know, nor did she really care - she just wanted to switch topics. "So," she breathed after a moment, searching for something safe to discuss, "What was it like?"  _What was it like? Maker's sake, Bry, can't you come up with something better than that?_ "To be a Grey Warden with all the other Wardens, that is," she added and hoped the question didn't sound as lame as she thought it did.

Alistair looked ahead of them as they walked, his face taking on a thoughtful look. "Well, I didn't know them for very long," he began, clearly searching for something he could tell her, "but I guess it was longer than you. You never did meet them all, did you?"

Bryallyn shook her head. There just hadn't been time before the battle had begun at Ostagar.

"Hmm, well … they were quite a group. Actually, they felt like an extended family, since we were all cut off from our former lives."

 _Cut off from their former lives …._  Bryallyn glanced up at him, sudden fear stalking her. "Wait, Alistair … does that mean -?"

Something in her voice caught his attention and Alistair glanced down at her. He noted the worried expression on her face but it was not until she lifted her hand to rest at her waist that he understood about what she was so concerned. Smiling, he stopped walking and gave her a quick, reassuring hug. "Bry, you are something completely unique to the Wardens," he told her sincerely. "Duncan mentioned that to me, you know? I didn't understand what he meant at first." He blushed a bit and then shrugged and waited for the others to pass by before he added, "Wynne finally made certain I knew before the battle. 'Just in case,' she'd said. I suppose it was just as well. Anyway, the Wardens don't usually take on women, but for whatever reason, Duncan asked you." He sighed softly. "Even when he knew the entire situation."

Bryallyn frowned. "Weren't there any other women Wardens?" she asked.

Alistair shuffled just a bit as if he were uncomfortable. "No, not as Wardens, at least not while I was there," he explained awkwardly. "But remember, I was only with them for six months. I did see pictures of some of them, though none were as pretty as you are …."

Bryallyn blinked and almost laughed when she saw his face redden as he realized what he'd said. Swallowing her amusement, she allowed him to continue without comment. "What I mean to say is … well, we'll find a way to make it all work, Bry. We're the only two Wardens left in Ferelden, right?"

Bryallyn observed the effort he was making to swing the discussion back to something more tolerable. Offering him a smile, she nodded. "Right. What can they do, kick us out?" she returned. He apparently found this amusing because he began chuckling softly, and she tried to steer it back towards something easier to discuss. "So, tell me more about the others?"

Alistair sighed again, pulling her arm through his again and leading her off in the direction the rest of their group had taken. Their party was not to far ahead, though it was enough of a distance to give him a comfortable buffer zone to discuss Warden topics away from curious ears. "Well, let me think …. We laughed more than you might think. There was this one time …." He glanced down at her, checking to see that she really wanted to hear this story about men she didn't even know.

Bryallyn's smile widened a bit and she nodded encouragingly. "Please, go on," she told him.

"Well, there was this one Warden who came all the way from the Anderfels. His name was … Gregor? Grigor? Something like that. Anyway, he was a burly man with the biggest, fuzziest beard you've ever seen. And the man could  _drink_! He drank all the time but never got drunk. Finally, we all made a pool to see just how many pints it would take to put him under the table."

Bryallyn could not stop herself from giggling. This story was beginning to take on an all too familiar sound. "Sounds like you had a lot of fun," she finally managed.

The smile on his face faded just a bit as he replied, "Sometimes. We were kin of a sort. All of us had gone through the Joining, so we knew …. Anyhow, it doesn't have to be deadly serious all of the time."

Bryallyn found herself looking away from him then, turning her scowl so her friend and fellow Warden would not see it and misinterpret it.  _Thanks to people like Rendon Howe and Teyrn Loghain … well, I'm sorry, but I would have to argue that point with you._  Sighing, she struggled to push the thought aside.  _Maybe Alistair is right._  Maker knew she'd heard her father say something to that effect plenty of times before.

"You know, we never did find out."

Bryallyn blinked as his voice broke into her thoughts. "Find out?"

"How much Gregor could drink," he reminded her. "He said he'd drink a pint for every half-pint that the rest of us would drink, too. He was still going at it by the time that the rest of us were passed out. I'm told that Duncan walked in later on and saw us all passed out from one end of the hall to the other, and Gregor still drinking. Duncan laughed until he nearly …."

Bryallyn snapped her gaze back up to Alistair's as his voice trailed off.  _Damn …_ "Alistair, I'm sorry," she murmured gently, her arm tightening around his for a moment. "This must be difficult for you."

He sighed heavily, the emotion shuddering through his large frame as he did so. "I'd thought I was done with this …."

Bryallyn's grasp tightened. "Don't," she advised in a quiet voice so that the others wouldn't hear. "There is no need. I understand that Duncan was important to you."

"I guess … it's just that … I just realized that I have nothing to remember Duncan by. Nothing at all. There's no body, not even a token of his that I could take with me …." He darted a quick glance at her, his face reddening just a bit. "I'm sorry … this must sound really stupid to you … after what you've been through."

Bryallyn blinked at first, then felt a soft smile tilt at her lips. "Not at all, Alistair. Duncan was your family, so were the rest of the Wardens." Based on the information he'd given her so far regarding his background, she could understand all too easily how he might have attached himself to such a group - a place he finally belonged and could call home. And now, that had been torn away from him …. "And while our situations are similar, I did at least have some tokens to take with me." Her gaze fell to Constant who was trotting alongside Sten a short distance ahead of them. The thumb of her left hand strayed to the silverite band on her second to last finger. Her right hand lifted to touch the tip of  _Wicked Grace_  at her shoulder. Yes, she had her tokens and though they did not replace those she had loved and lost, they were reminders … something which Alistair did not have.

Sighing softly, she continued, "As sad as it is, we have something in common, besides being Wardens. If anyone might understand what you are going through right now, don't you think it would be me?" She saw him smile just a bit, enough to know that her words appeared to help, and at this point in time, that was all that mattered. If she had him and his troubles to focus on, it would leave less time for her to focus on her own losses, right?

They continued along, Bryallyn allowing her thoughts to drift around a bit, searching for another topic of discussion. "So tell me," she interjected after a time, "what changes about you after the Joining?"

Alistair found a way to pull himself out of his rapidly spiraling funk by latching onto her question and teasing back in return, "You mean aside from becoming a Grey Warden?"

Bryallyn allowed this, though she did nudge him in the ribs just a bit. His, "Ouch! Hey!" was enough to suggest that perhaps she'd elbowed him just a but harder than she'd intended …. "Well, you've been a Warden longer than I have," she reminded him.

"Heh … yeah," he returned, his hand rising to rub the sore spot for a brief moment. "Well, … you know, I asked Duncan that once. All I got from him was, 'You'll see ….'"

Bryallyn snorted and waggled her elbow near his ribs once more. "Just try that line on me!" she threatened.

He chuckled and countered quickly, "I have other lines for you, trust me."

Bryallyn stopped dead in her tracks, releasing his arm and darting her eyes up to meet his … and his now very, very red face. "Sorry! I mean … I … um …."

Bryallyn sighed and stepped closer. It was clear to her that he had spoken before he really had given thought to what he would say … and she recalled that he had said he'd been raised to be a Templar …. "It's all right, Alistair," she murmured, her arm sliding through his again. "No harm done."

It took him a moment or two, but he seemed to lose the flustered attitude. After a few more moments in which he appeared to struggle to pull himself together, he started again. "It isn't that Duncan wants to keep it a secret, Bry, it's just … well, the Warden's don't really discuss it much. I gather it's not a pleasant topic."

She frowned slightly. "So you don't know?"

"Not at all. I know some things … like …. Well, the first change that I noticed was an increase in appetite. I used to get up in the middle of the night and raid the castle larder. I thought I was starving. I'd slurp down every dinner like it was my last, my face all covered in gravy. When I'd look up, the other Wardens would stare at me and then laugh themselves to tears." He was laughing, she realized, which was another good sign.

"I haven't felt anything like that," Bryallyn mused.

Alistair's snort was enough to indicate his opinion on her comment. "Really? Because I was watching you wolf down food the other day and I thought, 'Well, it's a good things she gets plenty of exercise!'"

Bryallyn gasped. "You didn't!" She watched him a moment and then looked to stumble just a bit … just enough that when he bent over to assist her once more her elbow caught him mid-ribcage once more, eliciting a yelp from him. "Are you calling me a pig?"

Alistair straightened and rubbed his abused ribcage with his other hand, though he was laughing heartily. "Not at all! I've never seen a pig eat like that. Ever." His grin widened, but this time he jumped out to the side a half step so her elbow couldn't connect. "I jest! I jest! Don't kill me!" he joked.

Bryallyn simply rolled her eyes. "Wynne told me I'd be hungrier as the baby grew," she said defensively.

Alistair relented just a bit. "I'm sure that's a part of it, though honestly, Wardens do eat more … a  _lot_  more. Something to do with our bodies reacting or adjusting to the taint or something. We all had free access to the larder whenever we needed, and the kitchen staff always had food on hand at all times of day or night."

There was a pause, and then Alistair continued. "Let's see, you know about the nightmares now. Duncan said it has something to do with how we sense the darkspawn … like 'hearing' the archdemon. We tap into their … well, I don't know what you'd call it." He paused briefly, tilting his head to the side as he considered the best way to describe it. "Their 'group mind,' perhaps?" He saw her nod her understanding at his description. "And when we sleep, it's even worse. As you go on, you'll learn to block it out, though at first it's difficult. It's supposed to be worse for those who Join during a Blight." They exchanged a look then, one that told him she it was the same for her, and Alistair nodded. "Some people never have much trouble, but that is really rare. Others have trouble sleeping their entire life. They're just more … sensitive, I suppose. Everyone ends up the same, though."

"The same?" Bryallyn thought that those words sounded rather ominous.

Alistair nodded. "Once you reach a certain age, the  _real_  nightmares come. That is how a Grey Warden knows when his time has come."

Bryallyn frowned. "Alistair, what are you talking about?" She could feel a jittery feeling along her arms suddenly. She had no doubt she was not going to like what he was about to say.

Alistair sighed. "Duncan never had time to tell you, did he? Right. Well, in addition to all the wonderful things about being a Grey Warden, you don't need to worry about dying from old age. You've got … thirty years to live. Give or take."

Bryallyn felt her throat tighten up as she gasped.  _Thirty years?_  She looked up at him and searched his eyes. In them, she found resolute acceptance. Bryallyn sighed softly, her gaze dropping to the ground before her.  _Thirty years … what's the point in dreading that when it will mean thirty years of loneliness without Nathaniel?_  she mused silently.  _In thirty years, my child will have established a life of his or her own and I will be alone … except for the Wardens._  Bryallyn's eyes closed tightly and she willed the tears to leave.

"The taint … it's a death sentence," Alistair continued, his voice dropping again so that only she could hear. "Ultimately your body won't be able to take it. When the time comes, most Grey Wardens go to Orzammar and die in battle rather than … waiting. It's tradition."

"Why Orzammar?" she queried in a hoarse voice from swallowing back more misery.

"Well, you'll always find darkspawn down where the dwarves are. The oldest Grey Wardens head to the Deep Roads for one last glorious battle. Not that there's a shortage of darkspawn during the Blight, by any means, but that's the tradition. The dwarves respect us for it." He glanced down at her and gave her a quirky smile. "And you wondered why we kept the Joining a secret from the new recruits? There you have it."

Bryallyn held his gaze and replied honestly, "I never wondered that, Alistair. I understood."

Silence again before, "You know, Duncan … he started having the nightmares again. He told me that - in private. He said it wouldn't be long before he'd go to Orzammar himself. I guess he got what he wanted. I just wish it had been something worthy of him."

Bryallyn smiled and squeezed Alistair's arm once more. "He will be remembered, Alistair. As will the others."

"I know. Ending the Blight … should make this all worthwhile, right?"

Bryallyn's smile was complete, if a bit sad. "Right."

"Right then." Shaking off the rapidly approaching melancholy, he glanced down at her again and asked, "Shall we catch up with the others? We should be nearing Redcliffe soon … and as much as I trust them to lead the way, I somehow doubt Arl Eamon would be impressed with seeing me again if he meets Morrigan first …."

Bryallyn chuckled softly as they quickened their steps, and then laughed aloud as Alistair's face reddened as they both heard said mage respond, "T'wouldn't be difficult to impress him then, I should imagine. After all, Alistair managed to."

"Ignore her," Bryallyn said softly, though another giggle escaped. "Because if you don't, I shall have to start calling you 'My Prince,' and we both know -"

"Right, right," he broke in and cut off her comment. "This way. Sooner we get there, the sooner we can defeat the Blight …."

Bryallyn couldn't help the chuckles that continued to escape between her lips as they moved to the front of the group. Some things, no doubt, would never change ….


	45. Refugees

Their journey west to Lake Calenhad took them along the same path as the Imperial Highway … relatively speaking. Trinion and Nathaniel both agreed from the outset that to travel openly on the highway would be to invite the chance of being spotted by Rendon Howe's men who were patrolling the area … or by those who were in allegiance with him. Instead of walking on the highway itself, then, they decided to remain offset from it, distant. Close enough to follow it's path, to use the bridges when absolutely necessary, or simply when it became too difficult otherwise through the surrounding forests and hills. The biggest downfall to this plan was that it would delay their progress. In the end, it took them over a week to reach the northern end of Lake Calenhad where the highway then forked and traveled around the lake as it began its turning southwards.

When it became necessary to re-provision or seek out information, it was usually one of Rhyan's men who ventured forth into the towns, villages and hamlets of the Bannorn; men unknown to any others in Ferelden, yet two who spoke the language fluently enough to pass as natives. It was one such trip when they had just passed the docks on their southward turn that they started receiving hints as to what had occurred in Ostagar.

Nathaniel and Grayson were just returning from a hunt for their evening meal when they entered camp to find Gryffyd and Durbin seating themselves by the fire. Grayson said not a word, simply took the rabbits from his lord and walked across camp to clean them while Nathaniel approached the rest of the group and took a seat. He nodded his thanks as Rhyan handed him a warm cup before turning towards her men and asking, "Well, what were you able to find out?"

"Innkeeper we spoke to says he's seen different sorts of people moving through," Durbin informed them after downing half of his drink at once and sighing at the warmth it provided. "Some soldiers, he said, though not many."

"Highever soldiers?" Trinion asked while leaning forward just a bit. He shared a quick look with Nathaniel.

"None that he's identified," was the reply. With a shrug, he added, "He might be able to tell the soldiers from the commonfolk, but I doubt he could identify the difference between armies." He downed the remainder of his mug and handed it back to Rhyan. Wiping the corners of his mouth with his shirtsleeve, he continued, "The man also said there are more and more refugees showing up; freeholders from the southlands, their families and all, moving north away from the darkspawn incursion."

The silence hung for a long moment. Nathaniel and Trinion shared a look. The darkspawn had been the reason for Highever's troops to go to Ostagar in the first place. If the refugees were fleeing them, risking all and traveling north, then the battle down there must not have gone well at all.

"He did say," Gryffyd broke into the silence then, "that some of the mages who'd gone to Ostagar have returned to the Tower." He pointed vaguely in the direction of the northern end of Lake Calenhad where the Circle Tower rose towards the sky. "He didn't come right out and say it, but sounds from his description of events as if the battle there was lost."

All were silent at his words, thoughts trailing off towards different destinations. Nathaniel, for his part, found himself surprisingly calm. There was no doubt in his mind now that the battle had already been waged.  _But, what of Fergus, Highever's troops, and more importantly, Bry?_  Staring into the fire, he found his thoughts focusing on his wife.  _That far south … a battle that did not go well … surely there must be some place they could seek refuge? Assistance? Rainesfere? Bann Teagan would surely help. Or Redcliffe? Or had Arl Eamon and his troops been at Ostagar? Maybe they have headed north and east towards Denerim?_  Nathaniel frowned at this.  _Would Bry have insisted they move to Denerim? To seek help from more of the nobles against Arl Howe at Highever? South Reach and Arl Bryland lay along that route …._

"... I still think we need to head in that direction," Trinion was saying, his words finally bringing Nathaniel's attention back to the present. "We must be more cautious now, for I think it is clear that we will not only be hunted by Howe's men but by the darkspawn as well …."

Nathaniel found himself staring at the man for a long moment. It wasn't that Trinion had referred to Rendon's men as "Howe's men," that had caught his attention, but the way in which he had said it. Any doubts about whether or not the man from Highever trusted Nathaniel were completely gone. "We will continue south," Nathaniel agreed after a moment longer, his eyes meeting Trinion's across the fire. "We cannot rely on rumor to tell us what has happened. We must find it out for ourselves."

Grayson returned to the fire then and took a seat with the new skinned animals. Aside from being an excellent hunter, Grayson had turned out to be a rather decent cook.  _Certainly better than the rest of us,_  Nathaniel thought with mild amusement, including himself in the 'lacking' group. Soon the smell of the roasting meat and herbs was enough to make his stomach start grumbling. Rather than sitting around and waiting, Nathaniel decided to go tend to his armor and weapons while the meal cooked.

* * *

It was some time later, bellies filled, watches set and a mood of general relaxation spreading around the camp; Nathaniel was listening to Grayson talk about the first time he had gone hunting with Bryallyn, sent as an escort to protect her when she was a teenager. Nathaniel could not help but smile and laugh along with the others as the man described seeing a wolf coming out of the trees, approaching them, and of Bryallyn teasing Grayson the whole time. "'Let me see if I can talk to him,' she said!" he looked around the group. "Understand, I had  _no_  idea she was a ranger at that time, let alone a talented one. So, of course I thought she had lost her mind … especially as she was able to easily walk right up to the creature, as happy as you please, before kneeling beside him and 'speaking' to him!" As they laughed, and Trinion began teasing Grayson, the man defended himself. "I tell you, that wolf was laughing at me too!"

The laughter of those listening was something Nathaniel felt he could hold onto, perhaps even bring him closer to his wife than he had ever been before even though he was missing her physical presence. While he still worried for her, the unknown being as frightening and nerve-wracking as it was, listening to the others as they shared their recollections, their stories, their interactions with Bryallyn helped to ease that feeling for the moment.

Until, of course, Rhyan began a story about finding Nathaniel after he had received one of his letters from his, at that time, future wife. "Never before have I seen him move so quickly -!"

Nathaniel scowled at her. "I wanted privacy. Is that so difficult a concept to understand?" he muttered. He was about to say more, but a movement across the camp in the direction of one of the men on watch caught his attention. Then he heard voices. His companions all hushed, noticing the disruption as well. Quietly, blades and bows were drawn as the group began to break up, to move away from the fire and set themselves into more advantageous positions.

"My lord?" Nathaniel heard a voice call out. It was Trinion. If the man was calling for him in such a casual manner, identifying him as someone of rank within their group, the situation should not be all that serious … right?

Picking his way across the camp, Nathaniel approached to find three people speaking with the Highever man. "Please," the man was saying, "we only wish a safe, secure place to rest for the night. My wife … my daughter … we've lost so much and still have such a long journey to make …."

"Trinion," Nathaniel murmured as he moved to join the group.

Trinion nodded. "My lord, they claim to be fleeing Lothering," he explained.

The man, an elf, Nathaniel noted, nodded. "Please, my lord," he begged, "we are simply trying to make our way to the docks at the northern end of the lake. I had thought we were closer than we were …."

Nathaniel glanced at the man's wife and child, a girl who looked to be nearing her early teens, perhaps. None looked to be armed, and judging by their clothing, the meager possessions they carried with them and the overall look of them, they appeared to have been on the run for quite a while. Turning slightly, Nathaniel made a sweeping gesture towards the fire. "Please, join us," he said agreeably. As the young girl walked by, Nathaniel got a good look at how thin and gaunt she was, and he added, raising his voice so the others would hear him, "I believe we still have some food left from supper if you'd care for some?"

Within a short while, the family was seated, settled and hungrily enjoying the meal that had been offered, in between telling the tale of their journey. "We were originally heading towards Highever," Elsina, the woman, explained. "I have a brother in the alienage there, you see."

Nathaniel lifted his gaze to Trinion, concern there. Trinion shook his head once, and Nathaniel nodded in return. "Highever might not be the best place for you at the moment," he began.

Amras nodded, swallowing the mouthful of food he had taken. "We have been warned, my lord," he explained. "We were told that the situation there is … unstable at the moment."

Nathaniel blinked.  _Unstable? Who would have known to tell them that?_  "That it is," he agreed quietly as he took a drink from the mug he held. "I find myself curious, though," he continued pleasantly enough, "who it is that told you this. The developments in Highever are very recent …."

The young girl, Sola by name, piped up then. "A Grey Warden told us!"

"Hush, child," Elsina murmured as she placed a firm hand on the girl's shoulder. "Eat now so you do not let your food spoil."

Nathaniel, who had stiffened just a bit at Sola's pronouncement, now looked over at Amras as the girl did her mother's bidding. "A Grey Warden?" he queried.

Nathaniel saw that man shift uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze not lifting to meet Nathaniel's. "Amras," Nathaniel urged, his voice dropped lower so that Sola could not hear as easily, "please tell me. I am searching for someone … someone from Highever whom I thought to be in the company of the Grey Wardens in Ostagar …."

Amras glanced up then. "My lord … I - I am sorry … I thought perhaps you were one of the ones …."

Trinion took a seat between Amras and his wife, shielding them from the conversation. "One of whom?" he ventured.

Amras looked between the two men, noticed the woman coming over to distract his wife and child, and he sighed softly. "You have not heard then?" he asked. After seeing the confusion on their faces, the negative shakes of both their heads, he added, "Teyrn Loghain has declared all Grey Wardens to be outlaws after what happened at Ostagar. He says, though I do not know that I believe it, he says that they are the ones responsible for the death of King Cailan!"

Nathaniel gasped.  _King Cailan … dead?_  "What … what happened?" he demanded, though he made no movement that might frighten the man. "Can you tell us of the events that transpired at Ostagar?"

Amras shook his head. "We were there but only for a short time," he explained, his hands now fidgeting as he told his story. "We were advised to leave before the battle began. I was told to watch out for the safety of my family, I believe was how it was put. So we left, two days or so before the battle. We headed north, to Lothering, but with a child, it takes longer. By the time we arrived at Lothering, the town was filled with those from around the area seeking refuge from the darkspawn … and then some troops moved through. Not long enough to stay, mind, but enough to start rumors ... Rumors of defeat, of death … of the Grey Wardens leading King Cailan to his death and of Teyrn Loghain retreating with the rest of the army, taking them to Denerim, so that we would be able to live to fight another day." Amras swallowed hard and glanced at both Trinion and Nathaniel. "We had been in Lothering not even a week when we ran into one of the surviving Wardens. He was nice enough, told us he and his companions had defeated the bandits outside of the city who had stolen most of our belongings when we'd first arrived. And that was it."

Nathaniel sighed softly, his shoulders slumping just a bit. "Do you know with whom he traveled?" he chanced to ask, still clinging to hope. "Who his companions were?"

Amras frowned. "I … I'm not quite sure," he admitted. "I did see him about the town, after we had spoken, as my family and I prepared to leave there that same day. I seem to recall he was with a woman … no, two women?" His frown deepened as he thought back. "Yes, two women. One was a Chantry sister, by the look of her clothing. And there was another, a dark woman, sharp tongue, disdainful in the way she spoke … and a mabari, too …. They were trying to rescue some huge beast of a man from a cage …."

Nathaniel bit his lip. "What about the other woman?" he asked. At Amras' look of confusion, he clarified, "If I understand you right, you've accounted for three women with these two men and a mabari."

Amras blinked. "I - I don't rightly know," he returned. "I … I remember her being with them, of seeing her with them, but I can't tell you what she looked like …. She was in leather armor, I think. Carried both blades and a bow. The dog walked beside her …." Amras looked at Nathaniel squarely and shook his head. "I am sorry, my lord."

Nathaniel shook his head. "Do not be sorry," he replied, albeit reluctantly. "You have provided me with more information than I had before." Rising to his feet, he added, "Please make camp with us tonight, sleep in safety. Tomorrow you should reach the docks if you continue along the Imperial Highway. We will continue to head south, towards Lothering. Maybe these Wardens are still there and we can meet up with them there." So saying, Nathaniel turned and crossed through camp to take up his turn at watch. He was not scheduled until third watch, but there would be no sleep for him just yet. Perhaps one of the others would switch with him ….

Amras allowed his gaze to follow after Nathaniel's retreating form for a moment. Then, turning towards Trinion, he asked, "Did I say something wrong?"

Trinion shook his head and too a long drink from his mug. "No, my friend," he explained as his gaze was captured by the flickering blaze. Reaching over, he tossed another log onto the fire and added, "If you've a mind to listen, I can tell you a bit about why you were warned away from Highever … and why he," he nodded after Nathaniel, "is headed towards Lothering and Ostagar to look for the Wardens …."

As he walked the perimeter of the camp that evening, his mind sifting through the information he had gleaned, Nathaniel felt a prickling sensation of unease work its way across the back of his neck. Frowning, he took a moment to look around him. Nothing seemed out of place, everything seemed … normal. Almost too normal. Nathaniel decided to step off into the treeline for a few moments in an attempt to acclimatize his eyes to the darkness and to look around some more. Yet he found nothing. He continued on then with his watch, following the path around the camp, and with each circuit he made, whenever he reached that spot, he felt the same sensation. He spoke with Padraig at the opposite end of the perimeter, as their paths crossed, to see if he too was aware of anything, yet the man replied that he did not. It was not until shortly before his watch ended that Nathaniel was able to walk past that area and feel at ease once more. Twice more he circled the perimeter, and each time all was well. As he made his way to his tent after passing his watch off to Grayson, Nathaniel found himself pondering just what had happened.

* * *

His timing had been impeccable. He had placed himself into position just before the elven family had arrived at the camp, and in such a location as to be able to hear most of the conversation despite their efforts to keep quiet. Though he had not heard many of the details, he'd heard enough that, added to what he had already gathered from others back at the docks, gave him a more complete picture as to the events at Ostagar.  _Duncan, my friend, In death, sacrifice,_ he thought silently _._  Now was not the time to grieve, he knew, but he could offer that silent prayer.

He had begun his retreat shortly afterwards, easing his way out of the camp as silently as he had made his way in, until his charge had almost spotted him. The man was persistent, that was certain. Never before had he had to hold his breath for so long in an effort not to be located. Only after the younger man had finally moved away had he been able to shimmy up the tree where he remained for a little while longer, curiosity more than anything else guiding him to stay.  _The man is good … almost too good_. As he made his way away from their camp a short while later, he found himself wondering if the man had yet found the little 'present' that he had left him during their last 'visit.'


	46. Readying For Battle

Bryallyn remained quiet and thoughtful as her companions left her in the center of the Chantry to head off to complete the various tasks she had assigned to them. All save for Morrigan who flat out refused to be of assistance. Again, Bryallyn found herself sighing, this time at the waste of personnel. Since the woman refused to assist, Bryallyn had sent her back to their camp outside of the village. If she would not help, she would not help - and there was too much to do … and so little time.

When they had first arrived at Redcliffe village, thankfully early in the day they would soon discover, Bryallyn had been a little disconcerted to be met by someone guarding the entrance to the village. A quick look between her and Alistair had assured her this was not the usual procedure. And then … to find Teagan there, hear his concerns about his brother ….

As she stood in the middle of the transept of the enclosure, Bryallyn found herself able to block out the sounds around her - the voice of the Revered Mother as she spoke with the children, the worried tones of some of the women seeking shelter indoors, other voices she could not identify as they sought to reassure and calm each other - and focus her thoughts towards Redcliffe castle. Her eyes closed, her center inwards, she attempted to decipher the clues she had been given.

A strong hand at her shoulder brought her quickly back to herself and, for the briefest of moments, Bryallyn felt her heart jump, her immediate reaction being to think that it was her husband. But in the next instant, as she turned to face Teagan, Bryallyn schooled her features to hide her disappointment as she knew it could not be. She must not have done well though, she noted, her eyes lifting to meet Teagan's and noting the sympathy held within. "My lady, I -"

Bryallyn's lip curled up slightly at the corner, removing any sting from her next words as she sought a way to lighten the mood, even if for just a moment. "Teagan, you insist that I call you by name, and yet you do not offer me the same courtesy. Do not force my hand and make me return to the formalities that stand between us!"

He chuckled, a sound that assured her he was well aware she meant no harm by the admonishment. "As you wish, Bryallyn," he agreed, a slight sparkle of mischief flickering behind light blue eyes. She matched this with a glint of her own, knowing he would now refuse to call her by her shortened name simply to prove a point. "Now then," he continued, gesturing over towards a small table that had a map laid out, "where shall we begin?"

Bryallyn walked over to the table, Constant following at her side and settling himself onto the floor against a wall when it became clear that his master and Teagan would be a while. Leaning over the map, Bryallyn quickly made sense of it. "Can you show me the path these creatures usually take? The most likely route or routes they will come into the village?"

Nodding, Teagan reached out and traced several lines with his fingers. "Across the bridge, most certainly," he explained. "This is the same route they have taken every night since this nightmare began. As their numbers have increased," he continued, his motions shifting towards the water between the castle and the village, "they have been coming this way as well. How exactly, I am not certain, but they are coming across the water and entering the village from the shoreline."

Bryallyn nodded and tried to hold back a shudder of revulsion at the idea of it all. She must not have succeeded, however, as she noted Teagan's hand pause for a moment before reaching out to cover hers and squeeze gently. "I know you have been through much recently, Bry," he told her quietly. "And for that you have my deepest condolences and sympathies. But you must keep in mind that what you will face this evening is beyond anything you might be able to imagine."

Bryallyn nodded as she spared him a glance. "I know," she returned softly. Sighing, she turned her gaze back to the map. She felt a slightly more than gentle nudge at her leg then and absently reached down to scratch Constant behind his ears. She murmured to him softly, reassuringly, before turning around to face the far side of the Chantry. There were so many here, people who were frightened and alone. Bryallyn noted quietly just how many of them were women, others who were too old or too young to fight.

Straightening just a bit, Bryallyn felt Teagan's hand at her shoulder once again. She spared him a quick glance before allowing her gaze to travel to the others once more.  _Alone. Frightened. Not sure what to do. I am the same, and yet not …._

Bryallyn moved to step forward then, but felt a wave of dizziness assail her. Teagan's grasp tightened just enough to help her focus and regain her balance. "Sorry," she murmured as she dropped a hand to cover her stomach. "It's been a while since I last ate …." As if to back up her story, her stomach rumbled just a bit in a noise Bryallyn was coming to recognize as the Warden signal to 'feed me.' Blushing just slightly, she spared Teagan a glance. Though he grinned in some amusement, he held his tongue and remained silent, simply leading her across the room to where some of the women had provided food for the villagers to eat when they could.

"You look exhausted," he told her honestly as he handed her some bread. "Should you not rest before the battle this evening?"

Bryallyn shook her head. "The others have their duties, I have mine," she explained as she broke a piece of the bread off and popped it into her mouth to chew. "I will be fine after a bit … just a little dizziness is all. It will pass." Constant stood and moved beside her again, his presence giving her just enough to lean against should she need it. Again she reached out and scratched behind his ears in appreciation. She did not feel up to discussing with Teagan some of the other reasons behind her current condition at the moment.

Teagan frowned. There was something more here than met the eye, he thought, but he did not argue the point. Bryallyn was now a Grey Warden, the same as Alistair. He had to put his trust and faith in them. "If you are certain, then …"

They continued speaking, planning, discussing the situation in Redcliffe throughout the afternoon. Periodically, one or two of her companions would return to update her on their progress. Alistair was the first to do so, informing her that he'd spoken with Murdock and then managed to convince Owen, the blacksmith, to start up his forge once more and assist those who were protecting the town. As he related the discussion, Bryallyn glanced at him and noted the heat rising to his cheeks. Concern gripping her, she reached out and touched his arm. "Alistair? Are you ill?" She wondered if perhaps they ought to step outside for the remainder of the discussion.

"No," he promised quickly. "No, not ill … it's just … well, I sort of promised him we would look for his daughter … in the castle … when we get there." The red darkened just a bit. "I'm sorry if -"

Bryallyn smiled knowingly and patted his arm again. "Don't worry about it," she told him reassuringly. "If she's inside there and still alive, we will find her for him. And," she was quick to point out, "it did satisfy him enough to get him working again. So … a job well done, yes?" She almost laughed when Alistair's cheeks darkened just a bit more. "Can I not compliment you on a job well done? Or must you always become embarrassed?" she teased gently.

Alistair chuckled and lifted his hand to rub the back of his neck. "Yes, well … if you only knew what happens when I lead," he returned somewhat jokingly. "Eventually we all end up lost … and without pants …."

Bryallyn's eyes widened at that thought and she could not contain a quick snort of amusement. "Alistair, you just don't give yourself enough credit for a job well done," she murmured. "At any rate, you got Owen occupied and actually assisting, that's the main thing. Now, let's see what else needs doing, shall we?"

Bryallyn found another errand for him, sending him off to see if he could track down a boy named Bevin who was the brother of one of the young women taking shelter in the Chantry. After his departure, Teagan stepped beside her once more and spoke with a heavy dose of regret in his tone. "I suspect I did Alistair a great injustice in his youth."

Bryallyn looked up at him and lifted a brow. "Hmm? Why do you say that, Teagan?" she queried.

"Has he told you about it? His childhood here, I mean. About being forced to live in the stables … of how he was treated?" At Bryallyn's urging, Teagan related the information to her, admitting his own fault in the process. By the time he reached the end of his tale, he was saying, "I should have done more … somehow."

Bryallyn shook her head. "No, Teagan," she said quietly. "You were just taking over control of your own bannorn. What else could you have done? Arl Eamon and Lady Isolde are the ones responsible and are the ones who will have to answer for this in time. But all of that aside, and while it helps give me an understanding into certain events and how he reacts to them, I think Alistair is beginning to come to terms with what happened in his past and where he is headed for the future with the Wardens." As she smiled at him, Bryallyn recalled Alistair's words regarding his parentage and couldn't help but wonder if that would now play a part in her companion's future as well now that both Maric and Cailan were gone.

Leliana arrived a short time later, approaching Bryallyn with a look of concern furrowing her features. Excusing herself from Teagan, Bryallyn approached the woman. "Leliana, is there a problem?" she asked immediately. Leliana had been sent to speak with Ser Perth and the other knights of Redcliffe who were preparing for the attack.

Leliana's frown deepened just a bit as she relayed the discussion she had just had with Ser Perth. "He … he wants me to ask for … idols, for icons, for them to wear! It's blasphemous!"

Bryallyn sighed and patiently waited for her friend to finish her telling. Once she was certain the minstrel was through and was listening, Bryallyn asked quietly, "Leli, what is that you wear around your neck?" She saw the surprise enter the woman's eyes, but she waited for a response.

"My … my medallion? It's called the Seeker's Circle. Why?"

Bryallyn nodded and asked further, "Why do you wear that? What is it's purpose?"

Leliana shook her head in bemusement, unsure of where Bryallyn was leading their discussion. "What do you mean? Why would you -"

Patiently, Bryallyn reached out to pat Leliana's hand. "Humor me, please?"

With a sigh of resignation mixed with exasperation, Leliana agreed and returned, "It is in the shape of a wheel. This wheel represents the Maker's unending patience and Andraste's unquenchable passion. It is a reminder."

Bryallyn's smile widened. "It represents both the Maker  _and_  Andraste then? It helps you focus your faith?"

"Well, … yes. But -!"

Bryallyn's smile held. "That is all Ser Perth is asking, Leli. The men just want something to wear, like your medallion, that reminds them that the Maker is watching over them. It's something to ease their minds, to help them focus and do what must be done … what the Maker wills …." Bryallyn was beginning to feel as if she was pouring it on a bit thick, but her words did seem to be breaking through to her friend. "Tell me … is it more important for the men to be focused on their fighting the enemy, or worrying about whether or not the Maker will be watching over them in their time of need?"

With a sigh, Leliana's frown faded somewhat, her eyes meeting Bry's. "I … see your point," she admitted reluctantly, "though I do think it is not the same thing."

Bryallyn chuckled. "I will take that under advisement. But, now that you understand … perhaps you can go speak with Revered Mother Hannah and see if she might release some of the amulets that Ser Perth has requested?"

Leliana gave Bryallyn a hard look, though there was a smile playing at her lips as she did so. "You will owe me a huge favor after this, I think," she teased, and then suddenly all of the harsh looks were gone and the minstrel's brilliant smile returned. "I am sending the Revered Mother to you if she gives me a difficult time about this!" she called back over her shoulder in a teasing manner as she departed.

"Nicely done," Teagan murmured as he returned. This time as he approached, he passed a mug of warm tea to Bryallyn. "Drink, Bryallyn. It's just tea."

Wearily, Bryallyn did so, eyeing him as she sipped. "My lord," she murmured only slightly accusingly, "one might think you were in league with my husband, the way you badger me." A moment later, she sighed in appreciation as the soothing taste of mint relaxed her.

Teagan's chuckle was deep. "Who is to say that I am not?" he offered gently in return. "I do recall speaking to him on a few occasions at your wedding."

Though there was a moment of sadness that washed through her at the memory, Bryallyn found that she could still smile as they discussed Nathaniel. When this was all over, she would take the time to talk to Teagan, tell him in more detail, no matter how difficult it was, what had happened. He deserved to know and he was proving to be a true friend. In the meantime, however …. "I should go out and see how things are progressing," she announced. Constant jumped to his feet once more and returned to her side having returned to the area near the table to curl up before Leliana's arrival. "Would you care to walk with me, Bann Teagan?"

Teagan paused for a long moment, his eyes surveying the scene around him. "Perhaps stepping outside might do some good," he agreed. Moving beside her, he tucked her arm around his and almost laughed aloud at the look that crossed her face. "You may be a soldier and even a Grey Warden," he told her as they began walking towards the doorway, "but you are also a lady and I will always treat you as such."

Bryallyn rolled her eyes, but said nothing. Truth be told, it was a nice, comfortable feeling, if a fleeting one, to have someone watching over her once more and taking charge.

They exited the Chantry and crossed the square so that they could get an update from Murdock. The mayor informed them of progress so far. Bryallyn's eyes widened just a bit as the man informed them of Sten's contribution. "He found some kegs of oil in the general store and asked for some of my boys to help him move it," Murdock explained. "Took all of it up there," he pointed towards the windmill, "where Ser Perth is planning on using it as a line of defense along the trail."

Bryallyn smiled. She was still trying to determine just how to communicate with the rather recalcitrant Qunari, though she could understand it to a point. But the fact that he was following her orders was proof of … something, at any rate. After a few more moments of discussion with Murdock, Bryallyn and Teagan left the man to his preparations and continued around the square.

When they reached a group of men taking target practice, Bryallyn glanced up at Teagan. "Do you mind if I take a few shots?" she asked.

Teagan's smile widened. "Please," he agreed easily as he stepped out of the way, Constant following him. As Bryallyn set her stance and pulled an arrow,  _Wicked Grace_  rising over her head and settling into proper position, he added, "Did I ever mention that I was in attendance the day you and your husband had your impromptu match at the palace?"

Bryallyn chuckled as she took aim and drew back the bowstring. "You did not need to, Teagan," she replied as she released the missile. Immediately, she reached for another and launched it. Several more followed in quick succession. "I saw you as we were leaving that day."

As Bryallyn lowered her bow, Teagan stepped forward and moved to retrieve her arrows. Upon his return, he handed them over with a smile. "You and Nathaniel made archery look like a well-timed dance," he admitted. "I doubt I've ever met anyone else who is your equal."

Bryallyn reset her stance and her bow. With a soft laugh, she began shooting again. "Yes you have, Teagan," she murmured quietly. "My mother."

The Bann heard a soft hitch to Bryallyn's voice and winced. Stepping forward, he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Bry …."

Bryallyn lowered her bow, shook her head and stared at the ground for a long moment. "Not your fault," she whispered. She took a few deep breaths, attempting to release her inner turmoil as she did so. Now was not the time to grieve. There would be time for that later.

Sighing heavily, Bryallyn shouldered her bow as Teagan again retrieved her arrows. "I should head up to the tavern to meet up with Alistair," she announced, her eyes drifting up the hill in the direction of the establishment. "Who knows," she added, attempting to offer Teagan a full smile, "maybe one of us can convince Lloyd to come down and participate in the defense as well."

"If you can do that," Teagan returned as he escorted her towards the bridge near the waterfall, "then I would suggest putting Bella in charge of the tavern. Not only would it get that lazy lout out to do something productive for the entire community, but personally I think Bella is more than shrewd enough to run that place. In the end, I think the village might erect a memorial to you!"

Bryallyn laughed along with Teagan before they parted company for the time being. "Then I shall have to make that happen," she replied with a teasing grin. Before turning, she glanced up at Teagan and held his gaze for a long moment … and made a decision. "When this is over," she murmured, her hands moving to encompass their surroundings, "when things are safe once more … I'd like to talk to you in more depth, before I leave. I … I need to ask a favor …."

He must have sensed something, or perhaps he simply saw it in her eyes, she wasn't certain, but he lifted her hand and brushed his lips to her knuckles and promised her, "My lady, I will be at your disposal," before turning to follow his path back in the direction of the Chantry. Shaking her head slightly in amusement, Bryallyn turned and walked up the remainder of the hill towards the tavern. Apparently, she had some housekeeping chores to attend to.


	47. We Close Our Eyes

_If Father ever finds out I'm down here …._

Delilah Howe moved deeper into the shadows as she heard yet another set of footsteps nearing her current location. She remained thus for the next few, long moments until she was well sure that the patrol had moved well past her location. This had been the third patrol to come upon her since she entered the basement not a half hour before … which made absolutely no sense to her. Why would her father have men patrolling the basement of all places? The dungeon was one thing, but the basement? This was a storage area! Was he afraid someone would steal the family's belongings kept here? The winter stores? Old, unused furniture?

This was but one fact among many smaller ones that Delilah had begun to notice of late, none of which made any sense to her whatsoever, and yet they were continuously eating away at her at night when she slept. In the weeks since her father's return from Highever and then his subsequent and almost immediate departure for Denerim, Delilah had noticed countless small details that, standing alone, seemed to indicate nothing out of the ordinary. But, her brain would not allow it to be. Each time she spotted something new, it was added into the collection with the others. Things such as her father's return from Highever instead of going on to Ostagar as he had originally planned. Absolutely no mention of her brother Nathaniel or Bryallyn or Devlyn even. Not _anyone_  from Highever for that matter. Then there were the troops coming in and out of the Keep's grounds constantly over the following weeks at all hours of the day and her father specifically ordering her and her mother to remain inside the Vigil at all times ….

 _Father is up to something_ , she thought as she spotted a doorway ahead of her. One she did not recall having seen before. Frowning just a bit, she tried to recall her last visit to the basement years before and why she did not remember this door.  _And I am terribly afraid it can mean nothing good._

While her older brother had managed to teach her some of the ways of stealth over the years (something she was able to get away with in a manner such that her father had never noticed), the whole idea of picking locks, unfortunately, had never taken hold with her. She was too noisy, her hands couldn't maneuver the tools correctly … whatever the reason, Delilah hoped that she would not have to rely upon those unlearned skills now, otherwise she would be going no further. Approaching quickly and quietly, she released a soft sigh of relief when she reached out and the handle gave way. Through the door and down the steps, she remained under cover of the shadows ….

 _Thank the Maker for the shadows!_ As Delilah turned at the bottom of the stairs, she found herself entering a relatively open room. Across the way was another door, presumably leading to another even lower level. To the left was the door to the family crypt. She had never been down this deep in here before, but she had overheard her parents speak of it once or twice. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary for such a place, though, … except for the two large cells on the far side of the room wedged into the space near the doorway leading lower. That there were prison cells in this place was bad enough, she thought, but that they were clearly meant for other things ….

Edging her way further into the room, Delilah noticed yet more evidence to add to her growing collection. Some few prisoners were in these cells, and it was clear that they had not been well kept as their moans and groans of pain and fear were enough to send chills up her spine. Remaining along the wall, Delilah finally neared the first of the two cells. There were several people inside, but all seemed to be unconscious save one who was facing out of the bars and towards the other cell while whispering back and forth with someone there in a clearly desperate manner. Frowning, Delilah began to move around the edge of the cell, her eyes upon the man and then darting across the way but she could not make out with whom he was speaking. It wasn't until she neared the path between the cells that she got a good glimpse of the man … and recognized him.

"Ser Roland!" Delilah gasped in horror and in the process gave away her location.

She watched him struggle to turn, his movements slow and awkward, almost jerky in their manner. "Who …?" He narrowed his eyes in her direction and she knew the moment he spotted her because his eyes widened. "Miss … Delilah?"

Delilah swallowed and stepped forward then. Her hands grasping the bars between them, she knelt down until she was at his level and asked, "What has happened? Why are you here? Why are you not at Highever?" Delilah darted her eyes across the way and noticed now the robes of a Chantry priest. Her eyes trailing over the form, she recognized the face of Mother Mallol from her brother's wedding only weeks before. "Mother Mallol?" Turning back to Rory, Delilah demanded, "What is going on?"

The knight of Highever had definitely seen better days, Delilah realized. His face was a mass of bruises and swollen areas, his left arm appeared bent at an odd angle, and she noticed the wince he tried to hide from her as he shifted position. His armor was gone and he was dressed only in rags that she supposed were once a tunic and trousers and she could see that he had lost a great deal of weight since she had last seen him … how many weeks ago was it now? At least eight or nine, wasn't it? How could someone change so drastically in such a short amount of time unless they were ….

"My lady," Rory's voice was a harsh rasp as he spoke, but the urgency was clear, "you must leave. Get out before someone finds you here. This is no place for -"

Delilah shook her head. "What has happened, Ser Roland? Last I saw you was at my brother's wedding!"

"My lady -"

Delilah rose and crossed over to Mother Mallol. "Mother, please!" Delilah begged. "What has happened? Why are you here?"  _Why does none of this make any sense?_

The priestess managed to move beside the bars to reach out towards Delilah. "Child," her soothing voice came, though now filled with obvious pain, "do you remember your verses?"

Delilah was a bit confused by the woman changing the subject so abruptly, but she nodded obediently. As she did so, she felt Mallol's hand touch hers and she automatically turned it, feeling something cool dropped into her palm. Mallol rolled Delilah's fingers back over the item, closing her hand so that it would not fall out. "Remember, 'The one who repents, who has faith, Unshaken by the darkness of the world, She shall know true peace.'" Delilah watched in horror and sadness as the woman before her seemed to suddenly collapse before her, her body sinking to the stone floor. At first, she feared that the woman had ceased breathing, but Delilah soon noticed that, while it seemed to be a bit of a struggle, Mallol's chest was still moving up and down. Concern growing, Delilah rose and returned to speak with Rory Gilmore.

"Ser Roland, please!" she begged. "Tell me what has happened! Why are you here? Is my brother alright? And Bryallyn? What of the others?" Delilah knew without a doubt that Bryce and Eleanor could not know that these people were here or they would surely have done something to see them set free.

There was more hesitation, but Delilah finally heard Rory begin speaking. "Betrayal," he rasped. "We were set upon, during the night." Another pause as if he was struggling to find a way to say what he meant. "So many … lost …."

Delilah frowned. "Who? Who attacked you?"

"The great bear himself …."

 _The great bear himself?_   _That doesn't make any sense at all._

Rising to her feet, Delilah began searching around the room for the key to the doors, but could find none. Recalling the coldness of the item Mallol had given her and wondering if it might be a key (though how the woman would have gotten one to their cages Delilah did not know), she glanced down … but found something else entirely. With a gasp of recognition, she heard herself groan, "Oh no!" Rushing back over to Rory's side, Delilah asked, an urgency to her voice, "Ser Roland, I must know! What happened at Highever? Where are the Teyrn and Teyrna?" Lifting the item in her hand, she held it between her thumb and forefinger so Rory could see it. "Why did your priest just give me the Teyrna's marriage ring?"

Delilah noticed a mask of pain, this time unassociated with his injuries, as it slipped into place. "No!" she whispered as she interpreted his reaction to mean the worst had occurred.

Rory nodded then, reluctantly. "You must go," he insisted once more. "You are not safe here."

Shocked at what she thought she was being told, Delilah could do nothing but stand there, staring at the ring in her hand. Teyrna Eleanor had shown it to her and Bryallyn when they were young girls, telling them both that she and her husband had promised to wear them unto death. Closing her fist around the ring, Delilah swiped away tears that threatened. If she had the ring now, if Mother Mallol had given it to her, that had to mean Eleanor was dead. Rory's reaction seemed to reinforce that conclusion as well. "I … I need to find a way to release you," she told him in response to his comments. "This isn't right … I don't know what has happened, but this isn't right!"

A sound on the steps behind her startled Delilah and caused her to realize her predicament. She had spoken too loudly, her voice had alerted one of the guards who was now descending into the room and she could not slip back into the shadows fast enough. "Go!" Rory hissed through his pain, nodding his head towards another area that was darker. "I will distract -"

"Miss Delilah?"

Delilah's breath caught as she recognized the voice. "Varel?" Could she have been so lucky to have this man be the guard to find her? Stepping forward, she approached him and sighed in relief. It was him!

"My lady, you must leave here," he insisted as he reached out to escort her from the room. For just a moment, she saw him look beyond her, over her shoulder, and she thought he might be exchanging a look with Rory. But in a blink of an eye, the look was gone and he was insistently guiding her up the stairs. "I will not ask you why you are here," he told her in a low voice, "or even how you became aware of this place. Just know that there are some things you would be much safer not knowing."

Delilah nodded. Apparently, he too was aware of the place and the reason behind it. "Can anything be done for them?" she dared ask in a whispered voice.

"What can be done has been done," he assured her, though Delilah was not certain it made her feel any better than when she had not known.

They ceased talking moments later and Varel pulled her into a shadowed area as a patrol walked by, his intent to keep her safe made quite clear by his actions. It was as this patrol walked past that something clicked into place for her. The light from one of the wall sconces glinted off one of the guards' shields and Delilah caught sight of the heraldic device … the bear of Amaranthine. _The great bear himself …._  She inhaled sharply, her hand tightening on Varel's arm as she turned to look up at him. The guards continued on but Delilah whispered, "The 'great bear'? My … my father?" Varel nodded, the look on his face remaining as neutral as he could manage it.

_Oh Maker … Father what have you done?_

Moments later, Delilah exited the building and separated from Varel, assuring him that she would be fine and thanking him for his concern. Instead of returning to her rooms, however, which was where she had promised Varel she would go, she instead went in search of Ceila. The one person at the Keep in whom Delilah had no doubts about placing her complete trust. She knocked first before entering, but once inside the room and assured that she was alone, Delilah began telling Ceila the story and of plans that were rapidly falling into place.


	48. Fading Hope

"Maker's breath!" Bryallyn gasped as she took a quick peek around the edge of the door frame to check the hall before them. "Will we  _never_  get past these things?" She had been doing her level best to ignore the horror of having to confront the skeletal remains of people that had lived and worked in the castle, but with each group it was becoming increasingly difficult. Moments later, Bryallyn gestured her companions out into the hall satisfied that the coast was clear for the moment.

"We must be close," Leliana murmured from nearby. "We should be nearing the great hall, I would think."

Bryallyn glanced around but did not see the Orlesian before her.  _Using the shadows again, are you? Perhaps we should put that to use._  "Leli," she whispered just loud enough, "can you find out what lies between here and there?"

" _Une moment, mon capitaine!"_

Despite the seriousness of their current situation, Bryallyn chuckled softly. Leliana had a way of easing tension, that much was certain. Though she could not see the minstrel moving forward, Bryallyn trusted her enough to accept that she was fulfilling the request. Taking slow steps forward herself, Bry signaled the others to follow close behind. With Leliana remaining in the shadows, the responsibility to make certain the floor was clear of undead would fall to them.

"Do you really believe the blood mage?"

Bryallyn bit the inner corner of her lip and remained silent. Alistair's hesitant question was a good one.  _Just what do I believe?_  she mused silently. They continued down the hall, securing each room they passed. The process was slow, or perhaps it only seemed that way because they were securing so many rooms before Leliana returned. Finally, as they prepared to round a corner, Bryallyn found herself replying, "Which part? That Loghain hired him to poison Arl Eamon? That Connor is a mage? That Lady Isolde could be so secretive and hire a blood mage to tutor her son and then get away with it?" She didn't mean to come across as sounding harsh, but even she heard the edge to her voice. She was not certain which part bothered her more, that Loghain would be so bold as to try to have a respected Arl assassinated or that a mother would try to hide the condition of her son, one that was clearly dangerous to others in the area.

Alistair's snort was one of amused disgust. "Heh. All of it, I suppose," he clarified. "Though, … nope," he broke in, cutting his own comment off as more of the undead creatures chose that moment to make their presence known, "never mind."

Bryallyn waited as the others moved quickly into position. The only real benefit that she could see from this venture (as things stood at the moment) was that they were gaining valuable experience working together as a team.  _Always look for something positive,_  she remembered her father saying when she was younger. It was a lesson he had drilled into her and Fergus both. _Positive reinforcement does more to help than negative._

When once again the way before them was clear, Bryallyn walked over to Alistair. "You were saying?" she murmured quietly, a slight smirk at her lips. Alistair chuckled softly, but remained silent. What else was there to say?

"Mon capitaine!"

Bry nearly jumped as Leliana suddenly appeared beside her from the shadows. Hand rising to cover the area of her heart, she breathed, "Maker's arse, Leli!" The only response the minstrel gave was a soft giggle. "Alright, what did you find out?"

Leliana explained that they had little distance left to cover. "I found Lady Isolde, Bann Teagan and a child whom I presume to be Connor in the main hall. We've just a short way to go."

Bryallyn nodded and gestured the others to follow. The only other instance of resistance came in the main courtyard as they tried to re-enter the castle from the main gates, but this time they had the assistance from Ser Perth and his men who had been waiting on the gates to be opened for them. Once they had defeated their opponents, Ser Perth assured her that they would guard the gates from further encroachment. Only then did Bryallyn lead her group up the steps and into the hall. It was time to find out exactly what was going on.

* * *

Teagan had to admit, though it was after Bryallyn and her selected companions had left, that the experience with Connor had left him shaken. Not in a physical sense so much as a mental and emotional one. He would, he promised to himself, admit to Bryallyn upon her return that she had been correct in her suggestion that he not return to the castle with Isolde. Yet, what else could have been done?

Night had fallen by the time he managed to make his way to the battlements so that he could look out over Lake Calenhad to the north.  _Maker watch over you, my friend_ , he thought for the umpteenth time as he gazed in the direction her ship had taken. The party had been gone four nights and so far things at Redcliffe had remained quiet. Before Bryallyn's departure, Connor had been located in his rooms within the castle, and while seemingly himself at the time, the decision had been made to magically seal the room and keep the boy, and therefore the demon, contained. Since that time, both the Qunari and the witch had taken up station outside of the room per Bryallyn's orders and kept vigil.

Teagan now found that he could not help but wonder how Bryallyn fared at the Tower. There was a part of him, if he was to be completely honest with himself, that wanted to be out there, actively looking for the answers needed to save his nephew and his brother. The warrior in him was screaming that some sort of action needed to be taken, that he needed to be involved. And yet, another side, the Bann, understood that there were times when allowing others to do the work for you was best. Practically, someone needed to be in charge of the arling while his brother remained ill. Eamon's seneschal could make the daily decisions, of course, but Redcliffe had been in the family for generations. The people needed to  _see_  a Guerrin in charge, and Isolde had more than proved that she was not the one to do so.

Sighing heavily, Teagan turned to wander along the battlements. And so he had allowed a dear friend, a woman who had to be suffering at least as much as he if not more, to go off and fight his battles. Pausing again, Teagan snorted softly.  _Allowed? Bryce, my friend, your daughter is just as stubborn and insistent as you used to be._  But … despite her insistence that she and her friends head to the Tower to seek the mages' assistance, Teagan had noticed a certain level of anxiety in Bryallyn. Maker knew she had had the world dumped on her young shoulders. First losing her family, including her husband of such a short time. And then, on top of that, losing the Wardens at Ostagar. Teagan had noticed the difference that being a Warden had made for Alistair. There were differences there that he could not quite put into words. He found himself wondering if Bryallyn might find some sort of respite from her joining the group, though he had to admit that this might be more difficult with her and Alistair being the only remaining Wardens in Ferelden. Perhaps he ought to offer to try to make contact for them?

Glancing up, Teagan noticed a star trailing across the sky. He recalled a saying from when he was a child, something about making a wish on a shooting star and it would come true. Closing his eyes, he made a wish and then opened his eyes once more before turning to head down, the wish ringing through his mind as he walked:  _Keep them safe …._


	49. Where To Next?

Something in the way that Amras had described Loghain's persistent and near relentless hunt for the Wardens had rankled in Nathaniel's dreams during the night. Because of this, he had slept poorly: tossing, turning, thinking he heard voices bearing down on him and his troops, or half-imagining he saw Bryallyn calling to him or reaching out towards him frantically for assistance. Finally, unable to find any respite the longer it went on, Nathaniel rose in the pre-dawn hours and spent the remainder of the watch with those on guard.

After sparing what items they could and seeing Amras and his family off a short while after breaking their fast, complete with suggestions on two alternate destinations should they need them, Nathaniel gathered his people near the campfire and instructed them to break camp. "We head towards Lothering," he told them, his face a cold, stony mask now that the lack of sleep and weight of the dreams he had fought were settling upon him. The only good thing to come out of all of this entire situation was the fact that they now had a definite destination towards which to head.

The trip became long and arduous, given the constant need to keep off the main highway, but thankfully the journey was uneventful. And, even though they remained off the main highway, they did see evidence of more refugees taking flight to the north. Nathaniel and his group did not actively seek contact, still mindful of the possibility of either Loghain's men, or Howe's finding out of their existence and their purpose. They had come much too far to risk losing all now. Yet, as the days multiplied, their journey became routine … almost too routine, and that began to worry Nathaniel as well.

Finally, they came within sight of Lothering. They stopped outside of town, a high point just to the northeast of the town providing an outlook of sorts. Nathaniel led the others to the edge so that they could look down on the scene before them in order to determine just what the situation was before they entered the town. From Amras' description and now visual confirmation, they could see that the village was overrun by refugees, chaos still reigning even though the Wardens presence had mitigated it somewhat by convincing some to leave. They also knew from Amras that available resources were at a minimum. If there was a chance that their arrival would only add to the turmoil, Nathaniel would not take his people into the village proper.

As he scanned the horizon, Nathaniel noted that the sun was on the wane and realized that they would soon need to find shelter for the evening. He glanced over at Rhyan beside him, about to ask her thoughts, when another voice spoke instead. "There." Gryffyd's voice was soft, his movements slow, but he signaled to a point just south of the town.

Nathaniel allowed his gaze to follow … and it took every effort he could muster to keep the panic from rising within himself. "Darkspawn," he murmured. It had been a statement, not a question, but Gryffyd nodded in return, as did Grayson. "Or at least their vile corruption," Grayson clarified quickly. With the lengthening and darkening shadows of the day it was difficult to tell for certain. "And if their taint is spreading that far north of Ostagar, that close to Lothering, they cannot be far behind." He did not have to voice the obvious fact that it reinforced the rumors they had heard of the king and his army having been defeated at Ostagar.

Silence fell upon the group then and they continued to observe the area. The number of refugees that could be seen was staggering; people who would have no hope of survival if they did not receive assistance and leave as soon as possible … and yet, what could be done? From what they had been told by Amras, those who had means and had been able had already fled. Those who remained either could not or would not leave. Nathaniel felt himself with a dilemma. Did they take the time to try to convince the people otherwise and risk being found - by Loghain, Howe or worse, darkspawn - or did they cut the inevitable losses and just move on? Which led to another question: Surely there had to be troops that survived the battle at Ostagar - the king's, Teyrn Cousland's, other nobles - didn't there? Should they focus on finding any surviving troops, retreating to a safer location and and then rebuilding the army instead of helping Lothering? If that was the case, then the attack against the darkspawn could be led once more ...

A hand on his arm brought Nathaniel and his wavering thoughts back to the present. Turning his head, he found Rhyan giving him a consoling look. "We cannot," she murmured.

Nathaniel's eyes closed for a moment, he felt a shudder work through him as he thought of all the innocents below. It went against his nature to leave them without at least offering assistance. "Rhy -"

"My lord, we have no means to aid them in time," Trinion spoke up from Rhyan's other side. "Even if we had a hundred carts and oxen or horses or any other sort of transportation … they are out of time."

Nathaniel swallowed hard, another shudder working its way through as the battle within him raged on. Rising to his feet, Nathaniel turned away from the edge of the hillside. The decision was already made. Rhyan and Trinion were correct, Nathaniel knew that. That was why they both were acting as his seconds. But just because they were right did not mean he had to like it.

Rhyan watched Nathaniel walk away as she rose to her feet. "Where to then?" she murmured as Trinion joined her a moment later. A glance over her shoulder informed her that Gryffyd and Grayson were still evaluating the situation to the south. Just as well that they knew what they might be facing and how soon, she thought.

Trinion sighed heavily. "We have a few options," he admitted, "though I doubt he will like the choices any better than this one. For the moment, however, we need to make camp for the night."

* * *

They established camp outside of Lothering and to the northwest near the edge of one of the feeder lakes that bled out from Lake Calenhad. Nathaniel tried to busy himself with work - finding wood for the fire, helping set up tents, assisting with hunting for food and other dinner preparations. Anything to keep him physically and mentally occupied so he would not dwell on the consequences of the decision that had been made. Both Rhyan and Trinion attempted to engage him in conversation, to try and determine their next course of action, but he was not ready for that. He was too focused on the impending destruction around them at the moment … and the many innocent victims who would inevitably suffer.

Rhyan, after watching him pace about for most of the night, finally could take it no longer. When Nathaniel rose from the fire after their evening meal, muttering something about taking the first watch, she rose to follow him. She caught Trinion's eye as she did so and nodded when he too, rose to follow. Perhaps between the two of them they could reach Nathaniel.

To be honest, Nathaniel had been expecting this 'ambush.' He would have been disappointed if it had not happened, actually. Turning to face Rhyan and Trinion, he remained silent until they were near. For a long moment, no one said a word, the only sounds to be heard coming from the ever darkening night around them. When finally the silence was broken, it was Rhyan who spoke first. "Nate -"

Nathaniel lifted his hand to silence her. "Don't," he insisted. His voice came out a bit harsh, but he supposed that was due to the frustration he was feeling at a situation that was no longer within his control. "I know what you would say, Rhy," he glanced at Trinion then, "and you, Trinion, but it's not necessary. You both are right - to remain and try to help with the folk in Lothering at this point would be pointless and could well result in our own deaths." He paused for a moment, waiting to see if they would say anything in return, and when no comments were issued forth, he continued. "So the question that remains is, where do we go next?"

Rhyan and Trinion exchanged a knowing look, Nathaniel saw, which indicated to him that they had thoughts on this. Again, it was Rhyan who spoke up. "Well, we had some suggestions about that."

Nathaniel could not refrain from smirking slightly, her comment actually easing some of his earlier gloom. "When have you never had suggestions on anything, Rhy?" he teased lightly in a way he had not since their years together as squires. When Rhyan punched his arm in retaliation, Nathaniel chuckled and gave Trinion a tolerant grin. Trinion, to his credit, said nothing … but Nathaniel thought he spotted a bit of a twinkle in the man's eye. Turning back to Rhyan, Nathaniel attempted to swallow back yet another chuckle when he saw the look of irritation and anger in her eyes. When squiring in the Free Marches, she had been nicknamed 'Spitfire' for a reason. That reason was about to make itself known if he did not react quickly.

Expecting her second hit in retaliation for his amusement, Nathaniel caught her wrist in his hand before her fist made contact. "Now, Rhy, calm down," he told her. "Do you want to hear my thoughts or not?" To her credit she remained silent, though Rhyan did yank her arm from his grasp. "Right then," he began. "The way I see it is we have two options. The first is to head east, ahead of the darkspawn, and go towards Denerim." Nathaniel would prefer to stay away from that part of the country for the moment. It would bring him closer to his father and, though he knew his father to be in the wrong and needing to be brought to justice, Nathaniel was not certain he could face his sire just yet. Not when the fate of his wife remained undetermined.

"The second option would be to travel west. I suspect," and here he glanced directly at Trinion for confirmation, "that any Highever troops surviving Ostagar would have returned this way." Trinion's nod confirmed Nathaniel's thoughts. They had not come across any, or heard of any on their journey south along the eastern side of Lake Calenhad. That only left the western route. If they could catch up with them, assuming there were any, and enlist their assistance ….

The silence returned then as each kept his or her own counsel for a time. Again, it was Rhyan who broke it. "What is your choice?" she asked.

 _Some things never change,_  Nathaniel thought as he prepared his answer.  _Rhyan always did want me to speak my mind first._  "I say west. If we can find any survivors, we might be able to enlist their aid." Trinion remained silent, his attention focused on his two companions.

Rhyan simply frowned. She understood Nathaniel's argument well enough, but she also knew she tended to be a bit more emotional in her reactions. Her gut instinct was screaming that they head towards Denerim. Top priority should be to seek out Rendon Howe and make him pay. As she debated within herself, she glanced at Nathaniel and found him giving her a patient look.  _He knows what I'm thinking_ , she thought.  _He knows and he is giving me a chance to object …._

Trinion broke in then, his voice low but firm. "I would offer up a slight variation to your suggestion, my lord."

Nathaniel was startled. Staring at the man for a moment, he wondered what he could possibly have forgotten to take into account, for certainly he had if Trinion had yet another option available. Nathaniel had been thinking this out all evening. "Continue, please," he agreed.

"I believe we should begin at Ostagar, my lord," Trinion explained. "I realize this will take us into the heart of the darkspawn territory, and that we may well not be able to reach the location. However, Ostagar is the last confirmed location of Lord Fergus and Highever's troops. Do you not think we should begin there? Search for any clues that might remain? See if there is not some indication on where any survivors might have headed if there were any?"

Nathaniel glanced over at Rhyan and she at him. Into the heart of darkspawn territory. The words were enough to chill even the most hardened of soldier's heart at the thought. But Trinion's plan made sense, and if it did provide them with a more specific course of action, then it would be worth it. But, it would be a great risk. The king's army had been defeated, Loghain's men or no, and that would be no small task. Did they take that chance? And even if they did get in and out of Ostagar without encountering any darkspawn, there was still the question as to whether or not it would provide them with any information or clues at all, or simply needlessly put all of them at risk.

"Ostagar it is then," Rhyan finally told them quietly before turning away to return to camp. "Trinion's right - if we're going to do this, we need to do it right. I just hope you know what you're doing," she tossed over her shoulder. Nathaniel, by Rhyan's words and tone of voice, understood that she was giving him a vote of confidence in his leadership skills, a caution against poor judgement and an implied warning that she would take over if she felt that he was taking them down the wrong path.

After her departure, Nathaniel ran a hand over his face and sighed. She had surprised him to some degree by not arguing with him about heading towards Denerim, though he did suspect she realized he knew damned well the position he had put her in. Glancing over at Trinion after a moment, Nathaniel smiled. "Thank you, my friend. You are right that we should start where they were last known to be."

Trinion simply nodded politely in acknowledgement. "That is why I am here, is it not, my lord? I am thankful you would consider finding our troops as a viable option, especially given that we both know the chances of us finding many if any survivors is minimal."

Nathaniel grunted softly in agreement. "I realize that, Trinion," he admitted. "But I also know that if we are to face my father, we will need more than our current numbers to do so." Nathaniel knew that ultimately it would be him against his father, but the more physical support he had at the time and in his presence, the better he would feel. Sighing softly, Nathaniel began to feel the full weight of the situation beginning to hit him. That confrontation would not be a pretty sight.

Trinion, realizing the conversation was over, began to take his leave. "I will make sure the watch is set for the evening, my lord. Be sure you take some rest when you are through." He would enlist Grayson or one of the others if necessary to make certain this was done.

Nathaniel smiled wryly. "I will," he agreed. "In the meantime, if you would work up a likely route that the men would have followed from Ostagar to Highever, it might help us to speed the process along."  _Assuming we find anything in Ostagar._  "If necessary, we can make any alterations based on what we find there."

Trinion nodded. Grayson had some maps he could use to do this. "I would also suggest we head towards Rainesfere, my lord. Because of the close friendship between the Teyrn and the Bann, all Highever troops know to head in that direction if they are in need. Bann Teagan has an open door policy to assist Highever."

Nathaniel nodded. "Fergus and the Teyrn both told me as much," he replied. As Trinion then turned to leave, Nathaniel added again, "Thank you." Trinion did not even pause in his motion as he left, though Nathaniel had caught a glance of a smile at his lips. As he began patrolling the perimeter of the camp, Nathaniel began to reflect just how lucky he was in the men, and women, he had with him. He had been very fortunate indeed.


	50. Hope Restored

_Wherever it was she had been, Duncan was now gone. And so were those who had stood by his side. Wardens, she supposed, as Duncan had assured her they were at Weisshaupt. But why they had drawn on her, she was not certain. She seemed to recall that there had been another purpose, something more that needed doing, but that urgency seemed to have faded now that the threat was past. So what to do next but move on …._

_Before leaving the immediate area, however, Bryallyn double checked it first making certain she had defeated all opponents. Everything appeared clear. Once satisfied and certain that no more threats remained, she cautiously began making her way through the halls, searching for a way out of the building. Weisshaupt was an unknown place, however, and at first she felt lost, uncertain of her whereabouts, or turned around at the very least …_

_... but after a time she came to realize exactly where she was: home. More specifically, the corridors of Castle Cousland. Directly before her lay the library. Around the corner, the passage leading to the private living quarters. As she continued on, Bryallyn wondered if she would find Fergus in his rooms, reading a book to Oren as Oriana sat nearby smiling and sewing. Or maybe he would be teaching Oren a new song? Bryallyn stifled an amused giggle though she felt her heart jump slightly at the thought. That would be a sight to see. Bryallyn could sneak into the room and listen for just a bit - long enough to gain ammunition to use against her sibling later - and then offer to take Oren off and teach him how to use a sword (or at least one of her daggers) and …._

_But when she arrived at the doorway to her brother's room, she found it open before her. Inside, instead of reading to a young Oren, she observed Fergus wrestling with his older son on the floor while Oriana sat nearby … a baby in her arms._

_Bryallyn felt a soft gasp pass her lips then. A baby? But when …? Fergus and Oriana had always wanted more children, Bryallyn knew this. Twice, they had thought they would be successful only to find out that they were not. Bryallyn had spent both of those nights with the couple, offering her condolences, encouraging them not to give up. How was it that she had missed this then? Why would they have hidden this from her?_

_Bryallyn turned away from the room, ignoring the niggling bit of hurt at the thought of Fergus and Oriana hiding such important news from her, but then she noticed the door to her own room lay ajar. Before she moved, though, she dropped a hand to her slightly swollen tummy, offering a gentle caress and a smile for the child there. THIS she was certain of and she found comfort there in the knowledge. The pain eased a bit._

" _Bry," she heard a voice call softly, carefully as if it didn't want to alert someone to its presence. Her eyes lifting to look over at the doorway before her once more, Bryallyn cautiously made her way over and pushed against the barricade. It took a moment's effort, eventually opening silently, almost reluctantly, but finally just enough for her to slip inside._

_Glancing around the room, Bryallyn noted a few changes from what she was used to, but for the most part it remained the same, right down to Constant curled up beside the fire in the hearth. Bryallyn could not hold back a grin at the sight. One of the most noticeable differences she did find, however, was that she was not alone in the room. While she had expected Nathaniel to be there, and indeed he had been the voice to call to her, she was startled to find him dressed in full armor. Cousland armor. Glancing down at her own clothing, Bryallyn smoothed her hand over the fabric of her dress, no sense of urgency pressing her to change into her leathers nagging at her at all. Was there some sort of a threat of which she was unaware? Why was she not responding to that need?_

_Stepping forward, Bryallyn reached a hand out to touch Nathaniel's arm. It felt solid enough. She could feel the texture of the leather beneath her calloused fingertips, hear the natural squeak of her fingers as they trailed along the reinforced leather. As her eyes surveyed him, taking in his appearance almost desperately as if she had gone a long while without a drink and was dying of thirst, she smiled up at him. Lifting a hand, she placed it palm down over the Cousland laurels on his shoulder pauldron. He sported the colors and the crest well, she thought. "Have you just come from the training yard, my love?" she asked, moving to assist him with removing the armor. "If you like I can ask Nan to send up a meal. You must be starving."_

* * *

Nathaniel crawled into his tent after his watch shift, suddenly so weary that the thought of removing his armor was even too much. He managed to secure the opening, but not much else, before he dropped onto his bedroll and just collapsed. He barely felt his head touch before drifting off into a deep sleep. ….

* * *

_The moment his surroundings turned sort of fuzzed and hazy, Nathaniel realized he'd entered the Fade. Surprised that it had occurred so quickly, Nathaniel nonetheless was nearly certain of his location. At least, he understood that he was in the Fade; beyond that he had no idea where exactly he was. He decided to walk around for a bit, investigating, trying to locate something familiar, but it seemed to take a long time before anything even remotely began to do so … until he walked through the atrium in the hall leading to the family quarters in Castle Cousland. Now this was something familiar …._

_He noticed almost immediately that something was off, however. Frowning slightly, Nathaniel continued on attempting to determine just what it was that was that seemed … off. He was only slightly surprised to find that the guard watch was not in its usual place. Was that what it was? And then, he heard somewhat familiar voices up ahead. Approaching cautiously, Nathaniel glanced into Fergus' room through the doorway and found the man and his family there, relaxed and at peace. He could not hold back a smile at this … until he remembered that this shouldn't be happening … should it?_

_Not wanting to intrude, just in case he was mis-remembering things (he was certain he wasn't, but erring on the side of caution was a good thing, was it not?), he turned towards Bryallyn's rooms instead. Entering, he found the room empty, save for a familiar furry lump curled up beside the fire sleeping. Constant. Chuckling, Nathaniel crossed over to pat the animal and give him a good scratch behind the ears. Though the hound did not wake, he did lean into Nathaniel's touch, making happy huffing noises at the contact._

_A short time later, Nathaniel heard the sounds of footsteps in the hall and he called out for his wife. The reaction was instinctual. Why, he was not fully certain. Blinking, he glanced around his surroundings once more. This is a dream, is it not? he asked himself. Yet, as time passed, he found it more and more difficult to pull himself from the drowsy acceptance that perhaps it was real. Was it the other place that was the dream? When Bryallyn finally entered the room a moment later, he could still feel a frown of consternation pulling at his features._

_He felt that tension ease, however, the moment her hand touched his arm. It was as if his entire body sighed in recognition. When she lifted her hand to his pauldron, he noticed that he was attired in Cousland armor. When had that happened? The Teyrn had talked about providing him with such, but he had not done before his …._

" _Have you just come from the training yard, my love? If you like I can ask Nan to send up a meal. You must be starving."_

_Bryallyn's voice was soft and gentle as she had always been. Lifting a hand to cradle her cheek, Nathaniel turned her face so their eyes could meet. "Bryallyn …."_

_He saw her smile widen, her other hand taking his and squeezing gently. "What is it you wish?"_

_Nathaniel felt his breath catch as she pulled his hand to her waist then. Surely this had to be a dream, he realized then. She pressed his hand over a gentle swell there, and he felt a resounding tug at his heart. Maker's breath, it HAD to be a dream. His eyes closing, for he understood deep inside that this was something he wanted with her … but that thanks to his father they would, most likely, never have. "Bryallyn, stop … this is a dream, love."_

* * *

_Bryallyn watched her husband's face closely as she pressed his hand close. Was he not pleased with her news? she wondered. They had not actually discussed their future in so many words, she knew this, but she had thought they were of the same mind. She vaguely remembered teasing him while on their wedding trip about her mother getting after him for grandchildren._

" _Bryallyn, stop … this is a dream, love."_

_She felt her hand fall away from his the moment the words passed his lips. A dream? This couldn't be a dream … she was certain it wasn't …._

" _Bryallyn -"_

" _No," she whispered, stepping back from him, his hand falling away as well. With the loss of contact, his denial of the situation still ringing in the air around her, she felt her head clear just a bit. "Nathaniel … what … why are you here?" she whispered. And then she wondered at her words. "What I mean is … if you are a dream … if this -" she spread her arms to indicate their surroundings, "if this is all a dream … why are you HERE?" For without a doubt, she knew his presence was real. It was like the times before … yet stronger?_

* * *

_Nathaniel felt an overwhelming sense of loss as she released him. As he began insisting she was dreaming, he quietly wondered at his persistence, realizing that this had a similar feel to the times before when they had met in the Fade. But … why? She had not called to him … he had not called to her …. There was no need … was there?_

_She asked why he was here and he searched for an explanation to give her. That the two of them were REAL at this point in time, that they were together, in whatever fiction their dreams had created, was not at doubt. And as he opened his mouth to answer, he caught a flash of light on her hand out of the corner of his eye. Frowning, he took her hand in his and lifted it, examining the ring he found there. The ring! Lifting his other hand, he looked at it as well and found it brighter than usual. "Bry …."_

_Her eyes seemed focused on their hands as well. "Nathaniel … the rings?" she whispered. "What was it you said when you gave me mine?"_

_"'The Tevinters would make these for couples to wear to show they were bound together forever; heart, mind, soul.'" he told her, repeating the words he had been told at the time he purchased the rings._

_Silence dropped around them for a moment, like a cloak protecting them both from everything around them if only for a brief time. Lifting her eyes to meet his, Bryallyn murmured, "We will always be bound together, heart, mind and soul."_

_Nathaniel nodded, lifting her hand to his lips. "This is real," he told her when he released her hand a moment later. "You are alive."_

_Bryallyn nodded. "As are you," she returned._

_Nathaniel watched her closely for a moment and became concerned when he saw her frown and suddenly appear in armor. "Bryallyn, what …?"_

_The moment Nathaniel released her hand, the dream began to fall apart around them. Bryallyn heard a roar of anger not too far away and understood that her current duty was calling back. They had no more time. Leaning over, she kissed Nathaniel fiercely, her hand lifting to trace the line of his jaw as she did so. "I AM alive," she promised him, her voice desperate in her attempt for him to believe her as she took a step back and called for Constant, now stirring to a wakeful state._

" _I WILL FIND YOU!" Nathaniel called after Bryallyn as she began walking away. Her only response was to lift a hand and wave at him as she retreated from his sight. Nathaniel glanced around him, trying to ascertain where she was going and why, but to no avail. He tried to follow, but she was gone and his surroundings suddenly taking on a misty, murky feeling …._

* * *

Nathaniel bolted upright, a cry for his wife caught in the back of his throat. Glancing around in the darkened tent, as he fought to bring his reactions back under his control, he began to recollect that he was in camp. Near the Korcari Wilds. Crawling over to the edge of the tent, he peeked out of the flap and found that while it was still dark, there were tell tale signs of the approaching dawn on the distant horizon. Time for him to rise. They had a journey to make. But as he rose and began packing up his belongings, Nathaniel was able to tuck the knowledge that Bryallyn was indeed alive close to his heart. It had been a dream, yes, but the one certainty that had been there, that they both had agreed upon, was that the other was alive.

* * *

It was some while later, after the Tower had been freed, after speaking with First Enchanter Irving and obtaining his agreement to assist with Connor, after reuniting with Wynne and having a quick discussion and 'evaluation' with her to be certain she and the child were well … even after a day out to sea, such as it was, that Bryallyn found herself thinking back upon what had happened.

"May I?"

The voice, deep and male and in her current state she almost mistook it for her husband, pulled Bryallyn back to reality. Turning, she blinked a moment until she recognized that it was Alistair beside her, speaking to her. Smiling, her face softening, she nodded. "Please do," she agreed.

They were silent for a time, but Alistair finally spoke. "Leliana and I were … worried," he told her quietly. When Bryallyn lifted a brow at him, he chuckled and felt his face flush just a bit. "Sorry … worried at you being so … quiet and withdrawn since the Tower," he clarified. "I know I asked you not to share my dream with anyone else … but perhaps you need to speak of your own?"

Bryallyn felt a wave of sudden emotion wash over her then. What exactly it was, she was not certain, but she knew that she had been very fortunate in her companions thus far in her journey. Smiling at him, Bryallyn shook her head. "There is no need," she assured him while turning to face back out towards the water. She could almost hear a protest forming, and hurriedly continued. "Alistair, my dream was just that … a dream … but it was more, too."

Alistair found himself frowning. Stepping up beside the railing with her, he asked, "How so?"

"There were some elements of truth in it."

The silence fell again and Alistair felt himself confused and slightly frustrated. She was hiding something from him. But, then again, she seemed to be less withdrawn now than simply … contemplative? Alistair struggled with deciding what he should do next.

Bryallyn seemed to sense his struggle and glanced up at him over her shoulder. Offering him a smile, she stepped a bit closer to him, her voice soft as she tried to explain. "Suffice it to say that I was able to determine that one whom I thought to be dead is indeed quite alive." She would not say 'safe.' Knowing Nathaniel as she did, his words still echoing in the back of her mind, she knew he would be out and in danger sooner rather than later, if he was not already.

It was Alistair's turn to blink in confusion this time. "How … how do you know?" he asked, bewilderment clear on his face.

Bryallyn simply smiled and unconsciously began turning and twisting the ring around her finger with her thumb. There was no logical way to explain it. "I just ... know," she finally replied and left it at that. "I'm sorry, Alistair … I have no other way to explain it." Thankfully, Alistair seemed willing to leave it there as well.

They remained at the rail for a time, sometimes talking, sometimes not, until a storm began to blow up from the south. As she descended to the safety of her room below, Bryallyn sincerely hoped that this was not some sort of omen to the passage of events in Redcliffe while they had been absent.


	51. Remains of the Day

The journey to Ostagar was one that Nathaniel would wonder for a long time if he would ever be able to forget. Aside from the overwhelming visual evidence before them that the darkspawn were on the move, there were other clues around them that added to the ever increasing sense of unease that he and the rest of his party were feeling. The moment they entered the tainted lands, it seemed as if the sky had suddenly shuttered itself off from view. Clouds, greyish, brackish in nature, appeared and began blocking the sun that had been so bright before their entry. Additionally, the eerie stillness that surrounded them was enough to set one's teeth on edge. No sounds, save the creaking of a branch or brush should someone move against it, and even then sounds were … off somehow. Nathaniel had expected something akin to this, yet it seemed undeniably worse than anything he could have imagined. He was in a constant state of alert, his eyes always roaming around them, his senses trying to make some sort of pattern to the devastation. Though they did not come upon any actual darkspawn, they did encounter several beasts affected by them. Bereskarns and blight wolves, they discovered, were just as difficult to kill as their untainted counterparts with the added complication of not being injured, or tainted, in return.

A trip that might normally have taken them three days at most to make, venturing from Lothering to Ostagar, instead took them nearly twice as long given the extra care with which they now traveled. Everyone was on alert. Constant watches were set in camp. When finally they arrived at Ostagar, they came in from the western side, having found the path around that way to be relatively easier to manage.

As they entered the valley, Nathaniel found himself staring up at the ruins above in the distance. Even the ancient stone seemed affected by the same taint as the surrounding landscape. And then, laying out right before them ….

Rhyan remained beside her friend as the group continued to move further into the valley. She could not repress a shudder as the evidence of battle became clearer with each step forward. Piles of rotting, desiccating corpses lay scattered around them and grew more and more numerous as they came closer to the main camp. It was also in amongst those piles that she soon came to realize that she could recognize some of the heraldry upon the armor. Swallowing past a lump in her throat, Rhyan caught Nathaniel's attention by nudging his arm and pointed towards one. "Is that not the device of Highever, Nate?"

Nathaniel's eyes followed Rhyan's hand indicated. He called out for Trinion as he felt his stomach fall, a sinking feeling of dread building upon itself as the truth settled upon him. Trinion arrived quickly and stepped closer to examine the armor more closely, seeking anything that might give them a clue. "A loose pauldron," he finally declared as he rose and stepped over towards Nathaniel and Rhyan. "Come loose during battle perhaps?" The piece of armor had the usual blood and gore on it, as one might expect from a battle, and the leather buckle straps appeared to have rough edges, as if the thing had been torn off or caught and pulled off. None of it offered any reassurances.

Nathaniel took the piece of armor Trinion handed towards him so that he could examine it a bit more closely. "Most likely, yes," he agreed quickly, the thought of any other possibility turning his stomach. Handing the piece towards Rhyan who took it from him, Nathaniel stepped over to examine the area more closely for himself. He was just crouching down when he heard a shout.

"My lord!"

Nathaniel turned his head to find Gryffyd and Grayson ahead of them and to the left of his current location. It was Gryffyd standing beside his companion, a hand at his shoulder in comfort, that had Nathaniel increasingly worried. Swallowing past his own fears, Nathaniel rose and murmured, "Come on," and led the way over to the pair of scouts.

Grayson was kneeling when they arrived, one hand covering his face, the other fisted around a scrap of cloth that appeared to be approximately a foot in length. Stepping forward, Nathaniel lowered himself beside the rogue and asked quietly, "What have you found, Grayson?"

Gryffyd glanced over at Rhyan and Trinion as they moved up beside Nathaniel. "It's a banner, my lord," he said quietly for his friend when it became clear that Grayson could not answer for himself just then.

"Whose?" Trinion moved in to kneel beside them, his voice harsh as he too, dreaded the answer. Each banner of Highever was kept by the different units. While outwardly they all appeared the same, there were minute differences, usually only seen close up, that identified to which unit each belonged. Not only did they indicate the type of group - infantry, archer, etc. - but there were other designations as each unit within a group had their own identifiers.

Grayson loosed his hold on the banner and handed it over to Trinion. Still unable to speak, he slowly rose to his feet, Gryffydd remaining steadfastly beside him. As Trinion began laying out the banner so he could 'read' it, Grayson murmured an apology to Nathaniel and stepped away. Nathaniel met Gryffydd's look first as the man hurriedly promised, "I will stay with him, m'lord," and then followed after.

Turning his attention towards Trinion then, Nathaniel waited. A harshly muttered, "Maker's Breath," was enough to let Nathaniel know it was more than just any Highever unit. Rhyan knelt beside Trinion then, her hand running over the material. "Grayson's brother's unit," Trinion finally announced.

Nathaniel allowed his gaze to seek out the man across the field, now crouched over beside another grouping of bodies, Gryffydd by his side as promised. He found himself wishing for Bryallyn by his side just now. Not for the obvious reason, but more for the fact that these were  _her_  people, her soldiers. She knew the knights and soldiers and pages and squires and all who had fought here. There was a bond she had with them that he did not. If he was honest with himself, Nathaniel was feeling ill prepared with how to deal with this situation.

Trinion rose to his feet then, the sound pulling Nathaniel from his worries enough so that he could do the same. "If we find others," Trinion told him, the hand with the banner closing tightly around it, "we should hold onto them. This will be one way to record who was here and who was not." Nathaniel simply nodded. What else was there to say?

* * *

Several evenings later, they made camp some distance from where they had ultimately found the Highever camp at Ostagar. They had found evidence of tents, gear, chests, crates, even the burned out shell of a smithy's forge … all the typical things one might find in a military camp had been found. Nothing had remained, however, the site picked clean, presumably by the darkspawn horde as signs of their tainted presence could be both seen and smelled. After extensively examining the camp, the group had to concede that there just was not enough indication left for them to go on. Had troops survived? Had any been able to flee the obvious massacre that had resulted in this battle?

Between Nathaniel and his group, they had managed to retrieve just over twenty of the unit banners belonging to Highever before finding the camp. And yet, they still did not know if that was more an indication of defeat and destruction, or flight and survival. Yes, they had found bodies, or at least parts of bodies, but nearly all were unidentifiable. The only way that it was known that they were Highever troops was because of the armor they were wearing. It was a frustrating position to be in, Nathaniel thought, as they had no further information as to if any troops had survived and were now heading back towards Highever.

And throughout it all, no matter where they looked or what banners they found, there had been no indication of whether or not Fergus Cousland had been present at the battle. Nathaniel clung to this one fact as a sign of hope.

Departing the area, they moved northwest from Ostagar while taking as much care on their journey out of the Wilds as they had on the trip in. Though still in blighted lands, the overwhelming stench did not seem as bad the further away the moved. Whether that was due to the fact that they were now moving away from the heart of the area or they had just moved far enough distance from the battlefield, Nathaniel did not know. For that matter, he well knew it could be a trick of the mind. However, he was inclined to regard the first reason more heavily given that, as they had neared their current stopping point that night, Nathaniel had spotted far out on the horizon just the vaguest hint of the purples, reds and oranges of a sunset, again proving that they were nearing a breakaway point and that there was still life outside of the Wilds.

 _Another night, maybe two_ , he thought as he stared towards the horizon,  _and we will be free of this. It will be safe to hunt, to eat from the land once more._  They had been surviving on dried meat and fruits and bread for the past couple of weeks. Nathaniel felt his mouth water at the thought of having a proper meal once more.

Footsteps behind him pulled him back to the present, however, and Nathaniel glanced over his shoulder. "Trinion."

The man nodded. "My lord. A word if I may?"

Turning to face him, Nathaniel nodded. "Of course. What's on your mind."

Trinion paused for a long moment, shifting his stance just a bit. Nathaniel thought he could sense a bit of trepidation radiating off of the man, but he remained silent, waiting for Trinion to speak when he was ready. If Nathaniel had learned nothing of him during their time together, he had learned that Trinion would never waste his time.

"I thought to enquire your plans from this point forth," he finally murmured.

A simple enough question, but one that Nathaniel knew to have a much deeper meaning.  _Do we continue to look for Highever troops, or do we turn towards Denerim and father?_  Nathaniel breathed in deep, releasing the air slowly, giving himself time to ponder the question. The trip to Ostagar had given them no information to go on. No clue if anyone had survived or not, just too many indications that many had been lost. But the fact that they had not found banners for all units, and no sign of Fergus …. "We are almost to the Hinterlands, are we not?" Nathaniel finally asked, though he knew all too well their current location by the maps and information that Trinion had pulled together for him.

"We are, my lord," Trinion agreed. "We will be just south and east of Redcliffe."

Nathaniel nodded, the map now in his hands as he opened it and examined the details once more. "And you think the troops would have headed west, around the lake, back to Highever?"

Again Trinion nodded in agreement. "As I mentioned before, my lord, we have a standing agreement with the Bann of Rainesfere, here." He pointed to an area on the map that touched the southwestern edge of Lake Calenhad.

Nathaniel studied the distance between their current location and the Bannorn of Rainesfere. Then he eyed the distance from here to Denerim. Lifting a finger, Nathaniel traced a rough line towards Bann Teagan's lands. "We will head this way," he agreed. "Perhaps Bann Teagan can give us information on the location of Highever's troops if we do not run into them first." He lifted his eyes to meet Trinion's, and did not fail to see a look of relief mixed with gratitude there. Had the man thought he wouldn't continue? Offering him a smile of reassurance, Nathaniel lifted a hand to clap against Trinion's shoulder and added quietly, "We will find out one way or another, Trinion. I owe the Couslands that much and more."


	52. Revelations

There were times during her life when Bryallyn detested the role of leadership more than anything else. Usually this came about when the responsibilities were suddenly and unexpectedly thrust upon her (or anyone in such a position, really) so that they seemed impossible to accomplish and yet, no one else ever seemed capable of doing them. Situations that, given their dire or extreme circumstances, would inevitably make Bry feel antsy and nervous. Uncertain of whether she was up to the challenge. Afraid of failing. Preferring the role of follower to that of leader. Thankfully, the times she had to take on leadership roles had been very few and far between up to this point in her life, though she had some experience with them.

_And then Father wanted me to be in charge … and I agreed to become a Warden …._

She was standing at the rail of the ship, watching as First Enchanter Irving and the contingent of mages (along with their augmented supplies of lyrium and Templar bodyguard) disembarked the ship and began climbing towards the castle. As Wynne had explained to her earlier, they would need time to set up and prepare for the ritual. Bry had nodded her understanding before offering suggestions to locations in the castle that might be conducive for the ritual to take place, for which both Wynne and First Enchanter Irving had thanked her. Bryallyn had tasked Alistair to assist the mages with their preparations, nominally because he and Wynne both seemed to get along well together, but also (and she would not state this to Alistair or Wynne out loud) as an added means of precaution.

It wasn't that Bryallyn didn't trust the mages at all, or the one Templar that Knight Commander Greagoir had insisted accompany them. Far from it. Wynne was one of the few whom Bry had met over her lifetime that she felt she could completely trust. Rather, given all the troubles that had passed, both at the Tower and here at the castle, Bry had decided that Alistair's easy going manner might help put things at ease. The fact that he had Templar abilities and would (she hoped!) use them if it became necessary, was a more subtle message that she wondered if anyone else even understood. Plus, with Connor's demon still more or less on the loose, and a new group of mages coming into range, Bryallyn hoped this would be enough protection.

Initially upon their arrival, Sten had met the group at the docks and given them an update of the situation. His stoic, clipped manner seemed to have put the others off, as had the hard looks he had given the group of mages as they began their disembarkation, but Bryallyn was beginning to understand this Qunari. And while neither was ready to call the other 'friend' just yet, the process towards that goal had taken steps in that direction. Now, it appeared further efforts would be made. Before Sten had turned to return to the castle, Bryallyn had pulled him aside for a more in-depth discussion. Well, mostly a one-sided discussion from her side of things, though he had answered her questions without too much prodding. And it was during this conversation that Bryallyn came to understand the man just a bit more. Somehow, the topic had turned around to something more personal for Sten.

As they talked, Bry came to find out that his reasons for traveling with their group was twofold. He explained in detail what had occurred to him and his companions that ultimately led up to his killing of the farmer and his family in cold blood and his subsequent punishment of being caged in Lothering where the group had come upon him. When Bryallyn challenged him as to why he simply did not return to his own lands afterwards, he went on to explain about the Qunari culture, of how his life as a soldier was tied to the possession of his sword. To return without it would be a punishment worse than even execution for murder. While she thought this seemed a bit extreme, Bryallyn was astute enough to realize that different cultures were just that: different. Saying nothing of her own opinion on such matters, she instead asked a few more questions of the Qunari, determined the last location known of the sword, and then offered to start an active search for it as they journeyed. In the end, though he seemed doubtful that much would come of such attentions, he did thank her for the effort.

Sten departed the docks with the last of the mages and the lyrium, insistent that he return to his watch over Connor until such time as the ritual could be performed. Bryallyn did not stop him. They had spoken before regarding mages and he had made his viewpoints very clear to her, and both had fought through the battle of the undead together here in Redcliffe and seen the devastation caused by the boy. Though he did not come out directly and blame Connor for everything, Bryallyn had been able to piece together the man's insights based off of his few comments. Given the Lady Isolde's actions that had led to this situation, or lack thereof depending on one's viewpoint, Bryallyn could not blame the Qunari for his beliefs. In fact, had she not known other mages before, including Wynne among others, Bryallyn might well have felt the same.

Bryallyn retrieved her few belongings as well as Constant afterwards, pausing as she exited the ship one last time to thank the captain for his services. It was mere moments after this, as Bryallyn disembarked and began the walk up the hill and through the village in the direction of castle that she realized she and Constant were not alone. To be truthful, her attentions had been drifting elsewhere, her thoughts touching upon Connor and then moving on to her late nephew, Oren, and eventually back to thoughts of her own child before Bryallyn became aware of the signs that she was being followed. It nearly startled her when she realized it, that she could become this distracted so that she would forget her surroundings. A quick glance down at Constant, however, reassured her that all was well. Had the person been someone new or strange or threatening, the hound would have been on alert much sooner. Instead, he trotted casually beside her as they walked along, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth and swaying with the motion of his gait. This gave Bryallyn a few moments to think on who her watcher could be and how to approach the situation.

In the end, two things rapidly became clear: of their company, of the people that Constant knew and would be familiar enough with to not react to, there was only one who could move about in such stealth and quiet and who had not had a particular assignment after their return to Redcliffe.

As for confronting the situation, well, Bryallyn made the decision to wait until she and Constant had cleared the docks and the village and were well on the ascent towards the bridge to the castle. As she was about to step onto the bridge planking, Bryallyn gave Constant a hand signal, murmured a name and sent the hound off just as she spun around. As she had thought, her follower was not right behind her, though a soft and lilting yelp a moment later followed imediately by a rustling of brush and the arrival of her friends, both human and hound, confirmed Bryallyn's suspicions. Struggling to hide her amusement, Bryallyn bit the inside of her lip and lifted a brow in question. She nearly lost her composure as Leliana pouted and hrmphed a moment later, reluctantly giving in to being caught.

"You do not fight fair!" she protested.

Bryallyn snorted at this, her amusement leaking out just a bit. "As if you thought I would?" she challenged. Of course, Leliana knew of what had occurred to Bryallyn at Highever, of events that had led to her becoming a Warden. Just as Bryallyn knew that if she had not discovered her friend's presence, Leliana would have blistered her ears regarding her inattentions.

Time stood still for a long moment then, the two women facing each other, faces pulled into looks of consternation or challenge while the mabari looked back and forth between them, confusion furrowing his features. Eventually, Constant moved beside his master, nuzzling his head beneath her fingers until she absently scratched behind his ears, the sign for him that all was well. Then someone gave, just a bit. Neither would admit it was they, but a twitch, a soft snicker, a slight tilting of the lips … something gave and the two were soon chuckling in amusement, the laughter building and eventually taking over for a few moments in which the women had to lean upon each other for support.

"I had begun to think you might have lost yourself in thought," Leliana challenged after a time, moving into step with Bryallyn as they began to cross the bridge.

Bryallyn smiled. "Not for so long that I did not notice your attempts to follow me," she returned. She sighed softly then and added, "I had thought you'd gone up to the castle with Alistair, actually."

There was a moment's hesitation then, almost unnoticeable, but one that had Bryallyn tilting her head towards the Orlesian in question. Something appeared to be troubling her friend. "What is it?" she asked.

Leliana came to a halt then, stepping over to the rail of the bridge where she could lean upon it in support and stare out at Lake Calenhad beyond. "I … I wished to speak with you," she murmured as Bryallyn stepped beside her.

"As you wish," Bry returned quickly, sensing the hesitation and insecurity in her friend. This was something she had not seen before, and she had to at least admit silently that it concerned her.

Another pause, eyes still staring out towards the lake, gave Leliana time to sort out her words. "I … I was not truthful with you before."

The words, though spoken very softly, were heard and had Bryallyn's brow furrowing. However, not willing to pass judgement just yet, she asked, "Oh, how so?"

Leliana finally turned her head to eye Bryallyn then. The ranger could see that the blue eyes were clouded with … was that fear? Another bristling at the hair on the back of her neck had Bryallyn wanting to stiffen her spine, to put some distance between them.  _Wait for it,_  she counseled herself _._   _Do not jump to conclusions._

Haltingly at first, softly, the Orlesian began to explain about her background. Losing her mother at a young age and being raised by Lady Cecilie. The loss of this woman and her being recruited and trained in Orlais. About the woman named Marjolaine who had turned her into a bard.

Bryallyn blinked at this.  _A bard?_  "You are a spy then?" Really, Bryallyn could not keep from asking the question.

Leliana sighed. "Of a sort." She tried to explain the difference to Bryallyn then, describing the types of things she had been trained for. Talking about some of the missions she had taken. Explaining about bards in general, and herself in more specific terms. Eventually, she related her last mission for Marjolaine; a mission in which she had been betrayed. But throughout, Bryallyn stood there listening, contemplating, evaluating. In an odd way, the things that Leliana was now telling her were clearing up oddities that Bryallyn had noticed upon meeting the woman, and yet that had not really been enough to require any conversation, confrontation or action. Leliana had martial skills that went well beyond those of most members of the Chantry, and though she had brushed it off simply by saying that she had been out in the world before becoming a lay sister, she had never taken the added step to explain how, when or where she had come across such training. Bryallyn had seen time and again by observing the woman in person as she asked her questions of others, skills that the ranger now realized must have been from that training. Certain phrasings that, Bryallyn had assumed, were merely due to the language differences between Fereldan and Orlesian.

 _Maker, am I that naive?_  she wondered after a moment.  _Am I that blind to what is right in front of me?_  Bryallyn stood there in silence for a time, simply staring off into the distance.  _What am I to do with this information? Is she here to spy on me? Father used to make trips to Orlais … is it possible she had been spying on him and was now turning it onto me? Or the others? Is she here on a mission or because she sincerely wants to help us?_

"I can see that I have caught you off guard."

Bryallyn could not hold back a snort at that. "That is one way to put it, I suppose," she returned.

Leliana emitted a resigned sigh and pushed away from the rail, taking a step away from Bryallyn. "If you wish me to leave," she told the younger woman, "I will. I am not here to make things more difficult for you than they already are." Bryallyn found herself wondering if Leliana had purposefully made her comments vague. Was she referring to just this moment, or to leaving the group as a whole?

Constant stepped forward then, placing himself between the two women as he could sense the rising tensions. Finally turning to face Leliana then, Bryallyn reached out and scratched the hound's head, behind the ears where he enjoyed it most. "I do not know what I want," the Warden finally returned, her eyes slowly meeting the bard's before her, evaluating her in a completely new light. "All I know right now is that the person I thought was my friend has been holding back information from me - important information." She saw that Leliana would speak then, but Bryallyn raised her hand to keep the woman silent. "And while I understand that, as a bard, you were trained in certain ways … I would have thought that you could have told me of this before now."

Leliana's eyes narrowed slightly as she murmured, "When one has been betrayed, trust is most often a difficult still to relearn."

Bryallyn held the look without flinching. "On that we can both agree," she replied.

They stood there in silence for a few moments, the weight of each other's words penetrating the haze of mistrust. Finally, Leliana nodded once and her lips turned slightly, a soft smile forming where none had been a moment before. For herself, Bryallyn, felt a similar pull. Assuming the bard's story was true, they did still have something in common … which suddenly got the younger woman to thinking.

Signaling Constant to walk before them, Bryallyn took a step forward and nodded towards the castle. Leliana agreed and moved into step beside her. As they walked, Bryallyn searched for a way to ask the woman the question that had occurred to her. "What would it take to be trained as a bard?"

To her credit, the question did not seem to phase Leliana in the least. Though her head did not turn, Bryallyn was able to glance up in time to see the blue eyes dart in her direction if only for a second. "Is there someone you wished to be trained?" Leliana countered.

"Myself." The reply came quickly and firmly. Why this was suddenly important to her, Bryallyn was not certain. However, given the events that had occurred over the past months at Highever, and the fact that neither she nor anyone in her family had been in the least bit prepared to defend against it, she could not help but feel as if some sort of training along these lines would have saved lives if not the castle and town.

The pair followed the hound through the gates, across the courtyard and up the steps into Redcliffe castle. As they entered the main hall, Leliana took a step closer to Bryallyn and murmured near her ear, "If that is what you wish, it can be done, yes."

The great hall itself was crowded, having been designated as the location for the upcoming ritual, but no more words between them were necessary as Bryallyn felt a smile pull more tightly at her lips then. Tilting her head towards Leliana's for a moment, she saw the agreement there.  _Good. Perhaps this might help us both learn to trust once more, too._


	53. Conversations With The Regent

After a morning spent in heated discussion with his daughter, the royal study proved to be the only room in which he could find some semblance of peace … and yet, this too was limited. He knew the room well. Too well, perhaps. Many a time over the years he had found himself in this room. Better times and among people he viewed as friends. Business of the realm had been the topic, for the most part, though such discussions had inevitably given way to more personal ones. It had been here also that Loghain had found his king after _she_  had died. Alone, drowning his sorrows in drink. It had been one of the few times that he had actually almost thought the man worthy of her.  _Almost._

Usually, however, the room had been a location of much happier times. Maric and his bright and jovial nature, his almost boyish outlook … now long gone. Bryce, amiable and kind, strategic in his thinking and yet, too open to outside influences, particularly those from beyond Ferelden's borders. And together, their inevitable teasing of him and his darker more surly nature. Still and all, good memories …

_Except now._

Loghain scowled at the page he had been unsuccessfully attempting to read for the past hour or so. Not even the study would be kind to him this day it seemed. Slamming the book on the nearby table, the Regent rose to his feet and decided that the search for heavier drink in order to chase away the demons that plagued him would be worth the hunt. A quick glance over at the sideboard in the room reminded him that he had dismissed the elven servant before she could bring any such distractions into the room. Irritation building upon itself, he stormed out of the study, the great hall his ultimate destination. Fortunately, no one he passed appeared to be of a mind to make an attempt to stop him.

True to his hope, for he had been in attendance at the castle on and off for many years and certain routines did not seem to change no matter who was in charge, the sideboard here contained various offerings … wine, ale, fruits, breads and other snacking items that would get one through to the next meal lay out for the taking. Loghain chose a large chalice and poured. The first cup he downed nearly in one gulp.  _No time for savoring today,_  he told himself. Then, thinking better of ingesting large quantities of such a potent liquid on a nearly empty stomach, for he still had 'business of the realm' to tackle, he reached for a slice of bread and an apple. These too disappeared quickly, surprising him at first. Perhaps he had burned off his breakfast during the discussions he'd had with Anora? Whatever the case, he now ate as if starving, adding another slice of bread and a bit of cheese to the list followed immediately by another cup of wine.

Though halfway through his impromptu meal, his thoughts scattered elsewhere, he was still clear headed enough to notice the sound of approaching footsteps behind him. They sounded booted, purposeful, and yet ….

Turning, Loghain was not surprised to see  _him_  standing there. He had known the man since back in the days of the Rebellion, had found him to be the same sort of sniveling, conniving bastard that he was to this day. Opportunistic to a fault, perhaps. Loghain drank again. Over the intervening years, since the defeat of Meghren, there had not been much call for communication between the two and Loghain had almost forgotten about him … until more recent times.

Loghain grimaced as the wine went down sourly, settling heavy in his stomach. Though he could understand Howe's reasons (a full defense of his actions had been made upon their first meeting in Denerim since Ostagar), the way he had gone about eliminating what was perceived to be an 'Orlesian threat' did not settle well. The Regent had no love of law or legal procedure, but even he understood the need for it to be in place. Charges should have been brought. The Couslands should have been allowed to make their case before their peers. Instead, an entire noble family, one with a history nearly as long as the Theirin line, had been erased. Or, as good as. Loghain's eyes met the Arl's.  _Even your own son?_  he thought. "Yes, what is it?" he demanded roughly.

"I bring word, sire."

Loghain sighed.  _Sniveling, opportunistic, greedy bastard._  Had not the man made his case for the Arling of Denerim upon word of the death of Urien's son during the uprising in the Alienage?  _And what does that make you, the man who granted him the arling?_  That the voice in the back of his head was still speaking to him was proof enough he had not yet imbibed enough.

"There are demands from the Bannorn that you step down from the Regency."

Loghain snorted in derision.  _No doubt led by the likes of Teagan Guerrin. I had suspected he might be as much trouble as the brother … but more?_  Silently, Loghain could admit that he had underestimated Rowan's youngest sibling. Where Eamon was a politician, a man used to using words to accomplish his goals, Teagan Guerrin was a man used to backing his words with action. _Perhaps I chose the wrong brother to keep out of the way?_  Turning, Loghain faced the hearth once more, glaring into the flickering flames while Howe continued. "They are said to be gathering their forces. As are your allies. It appears it will be civil war after all, despite the darkspawn. Pity."

_Indeed._

"I also have an interesting report." Loghain tilted his head slightly at this. Glancing just over his left shoulder, he waited for the details. "There seem to be Grey Wardens who survived Ostagar. How I don't know, but they will act against you."

Loghain sighed, his eyes closing for a moment.  _Perfect. Duncan, you haunt me from the Fade, do you? Could you have survived? I've no doubts you are skilled enough to do so, and as a Warden, you would know of the ways to get beyond the darkspawn … but to survive that battle?_

"I have arranged for a … solution, with your leave."

Loghain turned to face the man again, not surprised that Howe would have put measures in place before bringing this to Loghain's attention. The man was surprisingly efficient when it came to planning out strategy. The Regent was surprised, however, to find a blond-haired elf stepping forward out of the shadows. A rogue, by the looks of him. More memories from past battles and campaigns began to surface.

"The Antivan Crows send their regards."

Loghain snorted and turned his back to the pair, taking a long pull from his drink. "An assassin?" he challenged Howe a moment later.

But Howe appeared ready to counter any resistance that the Regent might have to offer. "Against the Grey Wardens we will need the very best."

That, Loghain had to admit even if only silently, was true. But the Antivan spoke then, breaking into Loghain's thoughts. "And, the most expensive."

Loghain managed to keep from rolling his eyes. Barely. "Just get it done," he bit out, a hand lifting to rub at his temple.  _Maker's breath, will I get no peace anywhere this day?_  There was silence behind him, save for the sound of retreating footsteps … but even Loghain could tell it was only one set. Howe must have remained. Loghain hoped the man would not tax him much further. His patience was beginning to wear very thin.

After sufficient time for the elf to disappear, Loghain heard Howe's steps approaching once more. "Sire, the situation in the Bannorn …."

This time it was Loghain who had the details. Lifting a hand to halt the man's words, Loghain announced, "Measures have already been taken to deal with the situation in the Bannorn, to undermine the leadership of those who would stand against us." He found himself wondering at the state of affairs in Redcliffe in that regard. He'd heard that Teagan had left Denerim following the Landsmeet, and rumor had it that his departure had been rushed as if due to sudden news. He made a mental note to check on that later, to see if he could find further information. "However," he continued, not willing to place all eggs in one basket, "send out enough troops to keep an eye on things across the Bannorn. Give our allies what assistance they need." He would be damned if he would let the country fall apart and be overrun by Orlesians, or their Fereldan patsies, once more.

"As you wish, sire," Howe's gratiating voice rumbled.

"Another thing," Loghain added with sudden inspiration, "see to it that the border with Orlais is closed off. We don't need any foreign influences getting into the country either."

"It will be done."

With a wave of his hand, Loghain heard Howe begin shuffling off out of the room. Downing the last dregs of his drink, Loghain set the vessel aside on the table with the now empty bottle and turned to exit the room. Meandering through the halls, his thoughts fell back to the 'agent' he had sent to Redcliffe.  _Why has there been no word?_  he wondered.  _Should we not have heard one way or another? Is Eamon still alive? Dead? Surely the contact would have sent word to Denerim now?_  That Teagan had not sent word or sought a personal audience with him to voice his concerns (best case scenario) or outrage (worst case) caused Loghain to frown. Perhaps this plan had worked better than he had hoped to keep the younger brother out of mischief?

 _Rowan, forgive me_ , he thought then.  _I do this for the good of the country. Surely you, of all people, would have understood that?_  He attempted to push away any further thought or, worse yet, impending guilt regarding his plans. He needed to find a place for some peace and quiet. Some place no one would … think … to look ….

Loghain's steps slowed as he passed a hallway, and he glanced down towards the far end.  _The Chantry._  Perhaps he could find peace and quiet in the palace chapel. No one would think to look for him there.


	54. In Search Of

Before the ritual was to begin, Bryallyn pulled her fellow Warden aside and to ask him one of the more difficult questions she had ever had to ask, especially given the things he had told her over the past weeks and months. "Alistair, I … know you won't particularly care for this, but I need to ask you a favor."

To his credit, Alistair gave her a look filled more with curiosity than anything else. "Oh, now that is interesting," he teased back, a lopsided grin tilting at his lips. "Because you see, there are a lot of things that I don't care for, only some of which you are aware. So would this be one of those I've already told you? Or, perhaps one you are guessing at? Hmm."

Bryallyn could have hugged him at that point. His humor, as off or self-deprecating as it could be sometimes, always had the effect of putting her at ease when she most needed it. It was one of the things she liked best about him. "Alistair!" The amusement was clear in her tone.

"I've got it!" he broke in, his hands between them, gesticulating as he often did. "The entire supply of Fereldan cheddar in the castle has gone moldy and there's no other substitute for it to have with supper and you want me to hike all the way to Lothering and bring some back in time for the evening meal."

Chuckling, Bry reached out and wrapped her fingers around his gauntleted forearm. Giving him a smile of appreciation, Bryallyn told him, "Seriously, Alistair, I need a favor."

Alistair nodded immediately. "As you command."

Taking a deep breath, Bry made her request. "Given what we, or rather Wynne, is about to attempt in there," she nodded towards the hall, "I was wondering if you might stand watch over her?" Bryallyn pulled her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. "I know you've told me you don't much care for the Templar duties and all, and that you were glad to be free of the Order, but … I would rather have someone with the interests of Wynne and Connor at heart see to their protection …."

There was only a moment's pause before he replied in all seriousness. "While it is true I hated the thought of what I might have to become, I will do this for you," he assured her. Then, the cheekiness returned. "Besides, I must protect my favoritist mage, right?"

Bry was still chuckling as they returned to the hall, her worries halted almost before they had begun. She and her fellow Warden had talked quite a bit on the trip to and from the Tower. She had come to learn quite a bit about him.

They were nearing the rest of the group when Bryallyn suddenly felt the room swirl around her, the floor wavering up and down before her. Her hand shot out, in the direction of Alistair who though startled, was quick to grab onto it and move to her side before she could fall. "Steady on," he murmured to her, moving so that his arm was around her shoulders for support and so that she could lean against him further if she felt it necessary.

"I'm … I'll be … fine," she managed in a weak tone after a moment, though she did lean against him for a brief time. The cool touch of the metal on his armor against her cheek and forehead helped to steady her. She took several moments spent focusing on her breathing patterns.

Her face turned into Alistair's shoulder, Bryallyn still heard footsteps approaching. She was not certain who it was until she felt Alistair stiffen beside her. Only one person had that sort of affect on him. "My my," the haughty tone crooned, grating against Bryallyn's nerves. "Is our fearless leader ill, I wonder? Showing signs of weakness at long last?"

"Morrigan -"

Bryallyn straightened and shook her head at Alistair's protest. While thankful, she knew that the tension between the two would not help in this instance. "Not now, Morrigan," she told the witch.

"'Not now?'" she echoed. "'Twould be the most opportune time, I would think. Did your mother never instruct you on these matters, I wonder? Have you no sense of what you -"

Her anger suddenly spiraling out of control, Bryallyn spun around to face the apostate, a move she soon came to regret but she would die before she would allow Morrigan to see it. "I came back from my wedding trip to find my family and home under attack," she spat out in a voice trembling with irritation. "Forgive me if I had more important things like survival and my parents' deaths at the hands of a traitorous bastard to deal with than to take the time to ask my mother for advice on pregnancy!"

Both Morrigan and Alistair seemed to be taken aback by Bryallyn's sudden mood shift. "Now Bry," Alistair began gently, his hand grasping her shoulder firmly as he pulled her away from the mage. Giving Morrigan his best and darkest glare, he tugged at Bryallyn until she moved to follow his guidance. "She isn't worth the effort, you know," he murmured near the ranger's ear. "Let it go."

Bryallyn suddenly felt a wave of misery wash over her. Whether it was due to memories dredged up by Morrigan's words or regret at what she would miss by not having her mother around during this time, or even guilt at what she had said to the apostate, Bryallyn had no clue, but she felt first one tear and then another begin trickling down her cheek. Swiping furiously at them, it took her a moment before she realized that Alistair was leading her to a bench across the hall near to where the site for the ritual was arranged. She had no choice but to sit as Alistair began pressing on her shoulder with a heavy hand. "Sit," he told her.

The sound of footsteps had both of them turning a moment later, prepared to chase off Morrigan once more, but it was only Leliana who offered a smile of understanding as she seated herself. "I will sit with you," she offered kindly as she gave Alistair a nod, almost as if knowing what duties he would be taking on in the next few moments.

Sighing, Bryallyn nodded at Alistair as well. "I will be fine," she told him in a much calmer tone than before. "And, Alistair?" When he looked back over his shoulder at her, she gave him a small smile. "Thank you."

Though time consuming, the ritual went off without a hitch. Seated with the bard, Bryallyn remained silent and thoughtful throughout the process, even when it began to seem if it would drag on through the night. When she began to get a bit nervous and jittery, as the hour continued to progress and the skies outside darkened, she felt Leliana's hand grasp hers and squeeze reassuringly. Bryallyn offered the bard a quick look of thanks.

After what seemed forever, Bryallyn glanced over towards Alistair as he stood watch over Wynne and saw him straightening. Wynne's eyes began opening then, blinking a few times before opening wide and meeting the ex-Templar's gaze. Bryallyn sighed in relief when Alistair glanced over at First Enchanter Irving and then at her, nodding to both. Wynne was fine.

The majority of the gathered assortment of spectators began to break up then, though Alistair, Teagan, Wynne, Irving and Bryllyn remained. Wynne began explaining what she had encountered, the results of her time in the Fade. "Whatever is affecting the father is not the same as the child," she explained wearily. "I have dealt with the demon that possessed Connor," she continued. She gave Alistair a look then and he turned to leave the room. Facing Bryallyn and Teagan then, she continued, "What it is that is affecting the Arl is not of the Fade."

"Jowan told us as much," Bryallyn agreed softly.

Teagan nodded. "But then why does he not wake?"

Wynne offered another weary smile. "Bryallyn is correct in what Jowan has said," she agreed. "Though, based off of what he told her, the poison given to him to administer to the Arl is beyond the knowledge of the Circle."

Irving agreed as well. "I suspect that whatever has been used against Arl Eamon will require something of the extraordinary to counteract it."

Bryallyn sighed softly, but she nodded, the words of Ser Donall back in Lothering coming back to her.  _Andraste's Ashes. But where to begin?_

Wynne then broke in, "If you do not mind, my dear, I think I will take my leave and lie down for a while."

Bryallyn nodded. "Of course, Wynne. Please." When Irving offered to escort Wynne to her room, Bryallyn agreed.

Turning to face Teagan, Bry asked, "Bann Teagan, would you escort me to the library please? I think perhaps we need to begin some research into our next steps."

Teagan offered Bryallyn his arm and led her down the hall while admonishing her, "Now, I know that you know better than to call me that."

Bryallyn chuckled and offered him a slightly mischievous grin. "But, my lord …."

Teagan, realizing she was teasing him, warned, "If you persist in your -"

Bryallyn laughed then and squeezed his arm with hers. "I will stop!" she returned lightly. "I promise!"

They entered the library together, Teagan leading her inside before closing the door behind them. After adding a log or two to the small fire to warm the room, he turned back to face her. "Now then, my lady," he saw her grin and sighed before continuing, "how may I be of service?"

Bryallyn took that moment to begin explaining her idea. "I had a thought," she told him. "What if Lady Isolde was not so far off the mark by sending the knights of Redcliffe after the Ashes? We are faced with a situation that we have no answers for, after all."

Teagan frowned for a moment, lifting a hand to rub along his jaw. "I see what you mean, Bryallyn, but how would we begin? Where?"

"Well, here is my thought. Alistair and I met up with one of the Redcliffe knights in Lothering after we fled Ostagar. His name, I believe, was Ser Donall. He and Ser Henric were both in the area, though we had the unfortunate duty of telling the man of his friend's demise at the hands of bandits." Bryallyn shook her head sadly. "However, we did find a note with some information in it that we ultimately delivered to Ser Donall. When last we spoke with him, before leaving Lothering, Ser Donall mentioned something about perhaps visiting the scholar that Ser Henric mentioned in his note."

Teagan blinked for a moment as he tried to absorb all that she was telling him. "And what was the name of the scholar?" he finally enquired.

"Brother Genitivi."

"Ah … then I may be able to assist you," he announced, stepping around her and leading her towards the back shelves. "For I recognize the name and I believe that my brother has several tomes in his collection authored by the good brother. I do not believe the collection to be extensive, but …."

Bryallyn smiled as she followed after him, thankful that Arl Eamon had some of the volumes at least. She could recall that her father's library also contained a few of them as well.  _Some is better than none, after all …._

"Ah, here we are," Teagan announced and pulled out several volumes including,  _In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar, The Stone and Her Children: Dwarves of the Dragon Age Tales from Beneath the Earth, The History of Grey Wardens in Ferelden_ and _Thedas: Myths and Legends'._  "Will any of these help do you think?"

Bryallyn smiled at him. "I don't know for certain, but I will gladly look through them if I may. Though," she reached out almost hesitantly for the volume on the Grey Wardens, "might I take this one with me to look over more thoroughly? Since Alistair and I are the only remaining Wardens at the moment and we are both relatively new to the order …."

Teagan nodded, taking the book and placing it gently in her hands. "Think of it as a gift of repayment for your assistance so far," he assured her sincerely. "Now, as for the rest of these, would you like some assistance in searching through them? I have some free time at the moment."

Bryallyn actually laughed. "If you would not mind, please! While I  _am_  a fairly quick reader, I am afraid these might keep me here through the night!"

Teagan helped Bryallyn settle in a nearby chair before sending a servant for tea and sandwiches to be brought up. He then joined her in another chair and they began the tedious task of searching for information.

Some hours later, they were still at it. Bryallyn finally sighed and closed her book, setting it aside upon the table before shifting to find a more comfortable position in her chair. Deciding instead that she needed to stretch, she rose to her feet and began to do so … and felt another wave of dizziness strike her. She must have made a sound, she realized later, as Teagan was beside her in a moment, a supportive arm around her shoulder, guiding her back into her seat. "Bry," she realized just how much she must have startled him to have him call her by the shortened version of her name, "are you ill? Shall I fetch Wynne or First Enchanter Irving for you?"

Lifting a hand to her forehead, Bryallyn shook her head negatively. "No, no," she murmured. "I will be quite alright in a few moments." She scrubbed her hands over her face then, hoping the action might help her regain her sense of balance. When she finished this, she reached for her cup of tea and took a sip. However, despite the measures she took, Teagan remained by her side, the concern evident in his features. Sighing, Bryallyn reached out and patted his arm. "Really, Teagan, I'm fine."

"You cannot convince me, my lady, that what just occurred was normal or expected."

Another sigh. "Teagan … please," she insisted, wishing desperately that he would drop the subject.

"Do I need to go and find Alistair to tell him? Your lovely minstrel friend? What about the dark haired beauty that travels with you?"

"Morrigan?" Bryallyn could not hold back a soft snort at that thought. Morrigan would just as likely rather see Bryallyn suffering, she knew. "They already know the issue at hand," she assured him.

"That issue being?"

"It will be a non-issue in a few months," she told him, sincerely wishing he would simply let the matter drop. If she told him, it would inevitably lead to questions she could not, or would not, be willing to answer. At his look of utter confusion, Bryallyn relented just a bit. She would have to spell it out a bit more, it seemed. But, given who and what he was, she supposed she could understand that he was not used to being told such things. "In about six months."

Bryallyn sat back and watched his face closely this time as he thought about what she had said. And not said. She thought she could almost see the pieces of information whirling around inside of his head behind his eyes. With each passing moment, however, she did not see any sign of recognition. Apparently, she would have to be blunt with him. Taking a breath then, she opened her mouth to speak … and instead saw him blink suddenly, his eyes opening in surprise afterwards as he began to stammer, "Do you mean … are you saying … Bry are you telling me that … that …"

Bryallyn tried not to laugh at his reaction. Simply offering him a slightly amused smile, she teased lightly, "Are you not happy for me, Bann Teagan?"

"Of … of course, my lady! I'm just … I mean … Oh, Maker's breath!" He stood suddenly then, almost shooting to his feet as if a bolt from a crossbow as fast and straight as he was.

This time, Bryallyn did giggle softly. Reaching out, she placed a hand on his arm once more and squeezed tightly for a moment. "I think you of all people can completely understand the nature of my situation," she told him sincerely then, her eyes seeking his. When he glanced down at her, she could see the startled look in his eyes. Rising to her feet then, she reminded him, "Teagan, I am an outlaw, according to Loghain. I am a Warden and I am also carrying the last of the Cousland line."

Teagan breathed in and held it for a long moment. The heavy release of breath that followed next contained much of the same frustration that Bryallyn herself had been facing these past several months. "How can I help?" he asked immediately and without preamble. "Name it, Bry, and it will be yours."

Bryallyn slid her hand down to clasp firmly around his for a moment. "Teagan, thank you," she whispered in a choked voice. "You will never truly know how much that means to me, I think."

Teagan pulled her close into a warm hug and murmured near her ear, "I think I can, Bry. Your brother and father were two of the best friends I could ever have hoped for. And though I did not know him long, your husband was a man I could respect and I feel sure we would have been the same." The smile he gave her was sad, as it should be, but also one filled with promise and hope. "Since they are not able to offer you assistance when you are in need, it shall be I to do so. Else," he added with a somewhat teasing and sheepish grin, "I may not be able to face any of them in the Fade one day."

Bryallyn laughed through her tears then, lifting her hand to wipe them away. "Ser, I'd be more worried at my mother's reaction if I were you!" she returned. Teagan's laughter then assured her he had taken the comment as intended.

Settling his hands upon her shoulders, Teagan gave Bryallyn a harder look. "In all seriousness, Bry, when your time is near … come to Rainesfere. Whether I am there or here will not matter, but you will find safety and security there, and I will guarantee your security either way. You know this. Rainesfere has always been a friend to Highever."

The tears started again and though Wynne had told her to expect the weepiness, Bryallyn was quickly becoming frustrated with it. But his words were truth, that much she did know. "Thank you," she finally managed. "I will definitely keep that in mind." Straightening, she reached for the tome on the history of the Grey Wardens and turned back to face him. "I do not know about you, Teagan, but I am exhausted. Perhaps we can meet again in the morning with the rest of my team and formulate a plan of action from there?"

Tucking her arm around his, Teagan led her from the library and in the direction of her rooms. "It shall be done, my lady," he promised.


	55. Wilder Folk

The journey west took them longer than they had originally thought due at first to the terrain and then later to weather. Marshy swamp-like areas, twisting and twining rivers and streams that often had them turning further south instead of north, and ultimately the slopes and valleys of somewhat mountainous terrain as they inched closer and closer to the west and the Frostback mountains. Along the way they saw no signs that any others had been through before them, but given that their map was much less detailed than the conditions surrounding them, there could have been any number of ways that Highever's best had traveled and they would be none the wiser.

They were currently looking to cross yet another river, one that had them making their way through semi-mountainous areas in order to find a crossing. Nathaniel had lost track of the days by then since they had left Ostagar. It could have been days or weeks or months even, he had no clue any longer as one day seemed to bleed right on into the next, their surroundings changing only slightly from day to day. At one point, he had caught himself wondering if they might be going in circles it looked so much like what they had seen just the day before.

They traveled from dawn to dusk on most days, and on others, usually when the rain was making conditions too difficult to traverse, they would find an elevated spot on which to camp. Food had been an issue early on, the longer they remained near to Ostagar, as most creatures they came upon had been tainted by the blight sickness that they had seen overtaking the land before bypassing Lothering. But the further west they pushed, the more taint-free creatures they were able to find, and food became more plentiful, if not wide in variety. There were only so many days in a row one could be expected to eat rabbit stew with potatoes and wild onions, after all.

There was no evidence that they were nearing any larger encampment or villages either as they went, and so their reliance upon the land became essential. Every time they came upon a free flowing river, they would refill water, wash clothing and bathe. Any herbs that were found, and there were some that they came upon that were recognizable, particularly elfroot, were harvested and set out to dry or were packed away safely in a pouch or medical kit. Poultices and bandages were kept as a last resort should there be a need if they were to find themselves in battle, but thankfully (or not) the land seemed free of people. Never had Nathaniel seen an emptier more Maker-forsaken place than the Korcari Wilds.

Until mid-morning nearing two months since Lothering (according to Trinion whom Nathaniel was relying upon to keep an accurate count of the days) when from one moment to the next, as they began descending one mountain path, Nathaniel and Grayson who were on point suddenly came face to face with two of the strangest people they had ever encountered. It did not take Nathaniel long to realize that the two standing before them were of one of the Chasind tribes. The painted faces, feathers, beads and small stone amulet type items woven into garments and hair gave that away immediately. The two before them were of a young age, most likely younger than Nathaniel, though he could not be certain. The one troubling factor, however, was the difficulty in communication, for it became quite clear from the first that the two wanted to speak with them. However, the Chasind spoke a language the likes of which no one in their group had ever heard before. The hand gestures that accompanied the spoken language were not of much help at first, until Nathaniel caught a word that sounded somewhat familiar.

At the time, Nathaniel lifted a hand in a halting motion, asking them to stop. Then he made a 'repeat' type of a gesture with his hand, turning it around at the wrist in a circular sort of motion. This time it took the Chasind a few moments before they realized what Nathaniel was attempting to tell them, but in the end, they repeated the word. This time, Nathaniel glanced over at Trinion who nodded. This time he had heard it too. When pronounced, it came out sounding something like "H'ev'er." Nathaniel nodded and slowly, clearly spoke the word back to them. "Highever." The pair of nodding heads confirmed Nathaniel's suspicions: these boys (or men) were of a tribe that had come upon some men of Highever.

When next the two began gesturing for Nathaniel and his group to follow them, Nathaniel found himself glancing over at Trinion first and then Rhyan. Both agreed, and Nathaniel nodded at the two Chasind who began leading them further south. Though this was a bit concerning, Nathaniel knew that if it meant finding anyone of Highever, it would be worth it. Not only would it enhance their numbers, but it could also give them an indication of which direction the rest (for certainly there had to be others) might have gone.

The trip took them most of the rest of the day, again following the lay of the land, bending rivers and streams, rolling hills, even around a boggy like area. At one point, near mid-afternoon, Nathaniel realized that there was only one of the men leading them, and he realized he had not seen the other depart. He glanced over at Grayson who simply shrugged his shoulders indicating he had not noticed either. Despite this, however, they were able to keep moving at a fairly quick pace so that by the time evening began to fall, they were being led into a clearing … an empty, open clearing. Gesturing to the members of the group to set their things aside and rest, their Chasind guide approached Nathaniel. He made a grunting sort of noise, one which Nathaniel had to shake his head at to indicate he did not understand. Again, the man made the sound, but this time he held up two fingers and then pointed up. It was at that point that Nathaniel glanced up … and up … and up until he realized that there was movement in the trees above. And then it began to fall into place.

As a child, Adria had read books to Nathaniel and his siblings, some of which revolved around tales of the Chasind Wilder folk. One of the things he had vague recollections of, and really should have remembered before this as it had fascinated him so, were the stories of the tribes that had their homes built up in the trees. However, the stories and matching fascination had apparently grown out of him as he had aged … but now he was about to have proof. Lowering his head, the man made the noise one more time, showed Nathaniel two fingers and then pointed upwards once more. Nodding, as he now understood, Nathaniel ordered the rest of the group to remain here. "Trinion and I will go determine the situation." Trinion nodded. Of course Nathaniel would ask him, he knew the men of Highever.

Nathaniel gestured to the Chasind to lead the way on, noting as he did so that several other members of the tribe were approaching now, offering food and drink to Rhyan and the others. At least this would give them time to rest up after the day's journey.

"Dare I mention, my lord," Trinion murmured as they followed the warrior to a nearby series of woven rope ladders, "that I have this unnatural fear of heights?"

Nathaniel chuckled just a bit as he began climbing after the man, carefully grasping with his hands and placing his feet as he went. "Don't look down then," he advised, taking his own advice and keeping his view upwards as they climbed. It was not that he had a fear of heights, per se, but rather a greater appreciation for keeping his body intact.

After reaching the platform and pulling himself through the opening at the top of the ladder, Nathaniel offered a hand down to Trinion who took it. Both men straightened then and glanced around, now able to see more clearly the layout before them. It was a stunning picture, Nathaniel thought. The ingenuity that had to have gone into a set up like this … a whole community that lived above the ground and in the trees?

Soon the two men were being led away, down a narrow path of sorts, built among the branches and limbs of the trees. As they moved, Nathaniel noticed two things: first, everything was made of natural products. The platforms and 'paths' were of wooden planking tied down by vines or woven ropes of some sort. The second thing he noticed was that each tree appeared to house one building, and that building was created around the tree, conforming to the shape that the branches had decided to grow. There was no symmetry except what nature dictated, but that did not detract from the natural beauty of the building. In fact, it only added to it.

Finally, some minutes later, their guide came to a halt before a doorway. The gesture he gave them was to wait, which they did, as he stepped inside, pushing the hanging fur cover to the side in order to do so. While they waited, Nathaniel glanced over at Trinion. Both men appeared to be just as affected by their surroundings as the other. Nathaniel decided that he would speak to his friend later regarding it all.

A soft voice called to them then, and both men turned, startled, to find a young woman before them. Nathaniel estimated her to be slightly taller than Bryallyn. Her long, black hair fell behind her shoulders, a mixture of beads and feathers woven into various strands of her hair. Her clothing was made of tanned hides, and its beauty lay in its simple cut and design made of quills on the surface of the hide. "Please," she told them, gesturing towards the doorway.

Nathaniel blinked. "You … you speak Fereldan?" he managed after a moment.

The woman blushed slightly, but nodded. Using her thumb and forefinger to show a small space between, she told them, "Some."

Nathaniel nodded, understanding dawning. She was limited in what she could tell them. Presumably, whomever it was that was inside had been teaching her his language. Turning, Nathaniel stepped through the doorway.

He was quite surprised to find just how spacious it was inside the small 'hut.' The room was large enough for several beds, spread around the outer edges of the room, with a cooking fire in the center. Around the space hung various-sized bags made out of animal hides, and in a nearby area set back from the main room appeared to be a space that stored cooking items. Lighting, despite the lack of windows or openings other than a vent for smoke from the fire above them, was given by several small hanging lanterns which, like everything else Nathaniel had seen, appeared to be made from natural products. Tallow, he supposed, wicks made from moss or something along those lines. He had a vague recollection of learning simple ways in which to survive out in the 'wilds' from his youth and his training under Arl Bryland.

Trinion entered behind him, followed by the woman who had bid them enter. Stepping inside further to allow them room to move in, Nathaniel spotted the guide who had led them here across the way, sitting beside one of the primitive beds and assisting the person lying there with a drink. Nathaniel felt his breath catch for a moment. Their Highever man? he wondered. Glancing over at the woman, she smiled again and gestured both men to move in that direction.

Trinion moved without delay, stepping in front of Nathaniel and crossing the room. Nathaniel allowed this, after all the man knew his men better than Nathaniel did, but he followed close behind. As they approached, their guide rose from his seat and stepped back to give them room. A moment or two later, Nathaniel glanced over his shoulder to see that he and the woman exited the enclosure altogether.

At the sound of Trinion's gasp of shock, Nathaniel's head snapped back around. "My … my lord!" The raspy nature of the man's tone had Nathaniel thinking that he was trying to get Nathaniel's attention, but the moment that Nathaniel's gaze lifted, he realized his mistake. Taking in the man lying before him, covered in bandages and furs, Nathaniel found his own breath difficult to pull in and he struggled for a moment beneath a wave of emotion so intense the only thing comparable in his life so far was that of his wedding day. "Fergus!"

* * *

Fergus had lost count of the days during his time with the Chasind. He did recall the ambush by the darkspawn, the sound of his patrol as they fought valiantly against the might of a greater foe, and as he lost consciousness that day, he could hear the battle continuing on around him. Whether any others survived that encounter, he had no idea for the next he knew, he was opening his eyes in surroundings completely unfamiliar to him.

The first days and weeks here had been spent in agony. Injuries that, he soon discovered, were much more serious than he had ever encountered before either on his own person or seen on others, challenged him in ways he never had been before. A head injury appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be a superficial wound. A bandage had been wrapped around his head to hold a poultice against his left temple, and his vision had been blurred for a while, but within two weeks the worst of it had passed, the bandage removed, and only a jagged scar running from his hairline down past his left cheekbone remained. His vision, too, had cleared about the same time much to his relief. It appeared the scar would remain, but little other damage there.

Unfortunately, that could not be said of his other injuries. His shield arm had been broken along his forearm. While not as severe an injury as it could have been, and the bone was knitting up well, the arm remained weak. It would take work and exercises to strengthen it, but Fergus had hopes that he could regain his former agility and abilities.

The worst of the injuries, however, and the one that had Fergus wondering if he would ever battle with sword and shield again, or any weapon for that matter, was the one to his right leg. He doubted he would ever forget the moment that the hurlock's sword managed to evade the metal plate and pierce through the chainmail and into his right thigh. The pain itself had been nearly enough to make him lose consciousness, but the way that the beast had flung him off of his weapon, hurling him into the trunk of a nearby tree had been what had finished that job. From what little he had been able to determine since that time, he had been unconscious for about two weeks thanks to infection setting into the wound. Even all these weeks later, though the fever had finally been beaten (and it had taken nearly two months for that battle to be won) the wound was still having difficulties healing properly. Whether that was a product of the weapon used, the nature of the injury itself, or some combination of the two, he just did not know.

Fergus had no recollection of the Chasind who had found him, though he thought he must have regained consciousness for at least a moment or two as he had vague, hazy memories of being carried on some sort of a stretcher-like device. The next time he had woken, though, he had found himself in a wooden hut, somewhat similar to his current surroundings and yet different. Over the following weeks, he had been moved (by same stretcher) three times, each time further away from Ostagar, the tainted lands and darkspawn, and more importantly, his men. Arrival at his current location had happened about three weeks before (he was pretty sure), and since that time he had made every effort possible to communicate with this particular tribe. He had met warriors, shamen and healers, all who made the attempt, and yet the only one with whom he had encountered any sort of success had been the young healer, K'danya.

Though he had suspected that scouts had been sent out to try and make contact with settlements somewhere (he had no idea where exactly he even was after all of the moving around), he now could admit that finding himself staring at two men whom he never thought he would see again was a bit disconcerting. Swallowing, Fergus offered the best attempt at a smile he could give at that time. "If you are both here, and I am not hallucinating, you must have returned from your travels to the Free Marches." Fergus watched both men nod in response to his question. "So … why then are you here?"

"One might ask that of you as well, my lord," Trinion countered. "We were confronted by two Chasind scouts who led us to this location, though we did not know it was to find you at the time. We were searching for any Highever troops who had survived the defeat at Ostagar and might have headed towards Rainesfere."

The silence that surrounded the three then was a heavy one. Fergus' shoulders visibly slumped at this news. "Defeat?" he echoed quietly. Staring down at his hands, Fergus sighed. "It was as I had feared, then." He shifted his position just a bit, to ease some of the ache settling in his leg wound, before looking back up at them.

Fergus could see a flicker of emotions flitting behind Nathaniel's eyes. Bracing himself for the inevitable barrage of questions that would follow, he explained, "I was not at the actual battle myself. I was leading a patrol in the Korcari Wilds beforehand and we were ambushed." He gestured towards his legs. "I was found afterwards, I know not how long, by some Chasind who for whatever reason decided to rescue me and heal me." He sighed heavily and sunk back into the furs piled behind him as a sort of pillow. "As far as I know, I am the only one to survive."

Fergus was surprised when both Trinion and Nathaniel remained silent instead of asking for further information. He found himself reflecting back on Trinion's words then,  _We were searching for any Highever troops who had survived the defeat at Ostagar and might have headed towards Rainesfere,_  which led him to wonder. He struggled to sit up a bit further then, intending to ask his own questions, when K'danya entered the hut once more, this time carrying food and drink on a somewhat flat piece of wood. He recognized the smell coming from one of those cups then. Flinching, he glanced up at Nathaniel. "Apparently, it is time for my medicine," he murmured somewhat sourly. He saw a tell-tale twitch at the edge of Nathaniel's mouth, before taking the cup that K'danya handed him.

The next few moments were spent with K'danya assisting Fergus into a more comfortable seated position on his bed before giving him a hard look. Fergus sighed.  _Still adamant about playing healer_ , _are you?_  he challenged silently. The slightly smug smile in her eyes before she left told him that she understood exactly what he had been thinking. Rolling his eyes and carefully sipping at the medicinal tea, Fergus looked over at the two men once more as K'danya left them once more. "So, you're looking for our troops then? Was father able to retreat from Ostagar before losing too many?"

Again more silence, he noted. And then he saw a look pass between Trinion and Nathaniel and was surprised to hear Nathaniel suggest, "Trinion, why don't you go bring the others up to date on what we have found here."

"As you wish, my lord." Trinion looked at Fergus then and nodded. "Your grace."

Fergus could only watch the man exit as he stared on in silence. And then suddenly ...  _Wait … Your grace?_  His eyes darting up towards Nathaniel, Fergus felt cold chills of dread shoot down his spine. Unable to stop the harshness in his tone, he demanded, "Tell me what happened."


	56. Ambush!

"You're not seriously thinking of allowing him to come along with us … are you?"

Bryallyn bit back a sigh. She'd lost count how many times Alistair had asked her that. Even Morrigan's comments earlier that afternoon had been somewhat … dubious of her decision. But she was the one leading them and, as she had pointed out at the time, they needed all the help they could get. It wasn't so much that she wanted to bring him along, but …

"Do you remember the old saying, Alistair, 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend?'" Bryallyn asked.

"Yes," he agreed readily enough. "And I also know the one that goes, 'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,' but I would hardly go so far as to call Zevran a friend."

Silently, Bry had to give him an A+ for that remark. Not that she hadn't recalled it, but that he'd managed to pull it out so quickly and in response to hers.

"I mean, he's a poisonous bastard, and in more ways than one."

Bry smirked softly at that. For Alistair to use that word was telling her just how immediate his concern was.

"Quite right you are, my friend."

Bry sighed this time. Throughout the discussions, the assassin always seemed to be nearby and listening in, adding his own input which was not helping matters. It wasn't that he was rude, she thought. Leliana had started out in her own pleasant manner with him, but quickly went on guard as the man had bantered back in a somewhat suggestive and flirtatious manner. Not that Leliana couldn't watch after herself. From the beginning, the bard had shown just how capable she was.

"Zevran?"

Zevran stepped closer then, falling into step as they walked along the roadway. "Si, my beautiful Warden?"

Bryallyn could almost feel the rippling irritation as it coiled through Alistair, which she found somewhat amusing just then since his reaction kept her from allowing her own to escape. She could almost hear him saying, _"See? This is exactly what I mean!"_  However, rather than waiting for him to say something aloud, Bry reached out with her left hand, she grasping his forearm and squeezed. Though it was difficult to do over the splitmail armor, she finally did hear the soft sigh of exasperation that Alistair emitted and knew that her point had been made. Turning her attention back to the elf, Bryallyn continued, "As you will be traveling with us, for now at least," she gave him a hard glare to remind him that this was at her whim, "I would suggest that you take great care when eavesdropping into private conversations."

Bry eyed Zevran more closely for a long moment then, their eyes meeting just about the same level, and though neither's facial expression changed much, the tension around them did seem to ease just a bit, at least until Zevran gave a slight smirk and murmured, "As you wish, my Warden," before dropping back and deciding to make a go at trying to talk with the Qunari. Bryallyn was not sure exactly if she had made her point or not, but at least for the immediate future, Sten would be taking the pressure off of her whether he wanted to or not.

* * *

They managed to find a somewhat protected area off the main road where they could make camp that night. Surrounded on one side by a copse of trees and two others by varying sizes of rock outcroppings, there was a water source nearby and plenty of downed branches that they could see near the treeline to feed the campfire. The space was large enough to accommodate Morrigan's need to separate herself from the others as well.

It also apparently was not an unknown way stop. As the group moved further off the road and into the camp area, Bryallyn noted that there was already a wagon settled off to the side. Though there did not appear to be a lot of activity, As Bry reached out to signal Alistair that they should approach with caution until they knew who it was, a voice called out, "Ah, and there she is! Well, my friend, it is good to see you safe and well around these parts."

Any nerves that might have cautioned her upon approach soon vanished at the familiarity of the voice. "Bodahn!" she called out in greeting, tossing a smile at Alistair who also grinned. "What news have you from the road?"

As the two Wardens paused to speak with the trader and his son, Sandal, the rest of their company began the process of setting up camp for the night. Tents were put together, the fire built and wood gathered, water retrieved and the meal preparations begun. By the time dinner was ready, the camp had taken on a somewhat comfortable and cozy feel, or at least as much of one as such a place could display given that it represented life on the road and away from home.

After the meal, Bryallyn set the watch rotation and those who were not currently on guard either went their own ways towards their tents for rest or sat about the fire to work on various and sundry things including the cleaning of weapons and armor. Bryallyn and Leliana gathered their things and headed off towards the water source, taking the dishes along with them as this was to be a cleaning run. Alistair also rose to assist, carrying the heavier pans. Constant, faithful as ever, trotted along after.

It was at this point when the assassin found himself left quite alone with the mage who, it appeared, had pulled out some yarn and needles and was … knitting? Finding himself curiously fascinated, Zevran scooted over to sit beside her. "What is that you have there?" he asked.

Wynne, her wits still as alert as ever despite her advancing age, merely lifted an eyebrow at him. "This?" she asked while lifting the knitting needles and the project attached to them. When she saw him nod, she simply replied, "It is my most recent project. I find that the activity allows me to expend any restless energy at the end of a day and will often allow my mind to work into a state of relaxation in order to sleep." Which really was a fancy way of telling the elf to mind his own business, she supposed, but it was not necessary for him to know the real meaning behind her project.

"Hmmm," he mused as he sat back and took a drink from his cup. "From my experience," he chuckled as he saw her brows arch again, "there are very few reasons for such … activities. Most of them have to do with the impending arrival of smaller feet."

Wynne could not hold back a snort at that thought. "Oh, and I am to believe that you have experience with that?" She saw him shrug noncommittally. "I would have thought that your career choice would have made situations such as those undesirable. I have been led to believe over the years that the Crows do not … encourage such things. Or am I mistaken?"

Zevran's laugh was dry, but not without a tinge of humor. "No, my dear woman, you are not mistaken. But suffice it to say that the Crows are not so bad, overall. They do keep one well supplied with … wine, women … even men. Whatever you happen to fancy." He gave the mage a wicked grin and then added, "Though, I must say that the whole severance package is garbage. If you were ever considering joining, I'd really think twice about it."

Wynne snorted softly at his jest and simply moved the conversation forward. "Tell me, Zevran, why is it that you decided to join us? Is it dissatisfaction with the job? A guilty conscience? Or simply the fact that you were beaten?"

Sighing over-dramatically, Zevran leant back against the log that had been used as a bench during the meal and stared up at the ever darkening sky. "I will admit," he told her at length, "that having been defeated by a woman, and such a magnificently talented one as your Warden, has intrigued me."

Wynne felt the hair on the back of her neck bristle then. "Well, I hope that your 'intrigue' is not the sort to lead you into … temptation, so to speak," she told him rather officiously.

Zevran felt his pointed ears perk just a bit. He sensed a story there. "Oh?"

Wynne glowered at him then. "I am highly suggesting that you keep your nosiness to yourself in that regard, Zevran," she told him sternly. "She has been through an incredibly rough time these past few months and certainly does not need any further stresses to add to it. You should be counting yourself fortunate simply to be alive."

"Oh, that I am, my dear woman," he told her, his curiosity now thoroughly piqued. Rising to his feet, he stretched and set his cup aside. "If you will excuse me?" He did not wait for a reply before turning to wander off. He paused briefly by his tent, reaching inside to grasp a few items, before turning to head towards the water. And perhaps, if he was lucky enough, he might just get lucky for a second time that day.

* * *

Alistair had assisted Leliana and Bryallyn with the transportation of the heavy cookware that needed cleaning. Whether Bryallyn knew or not, he had kept in mind her condition, and he was determined to keep an eye out for her, as he was certain her husband would have done … had he been here … and as she appeared determined not to do, if her decision that afternoon had been any indication. He still could not believe that she had allowed the assassin to live. Her argument that they needed what help they could find was valid, he did give her credit for that, but … how could she just let the fact that the man had not only tried to kill her (and by association her child) but him as well, and their fellow companions go by?

As they had made their way to the edge of the pond, he had tried to broach the topic with her. However, either by earlier agreement between them or simply by acting on her own, Leliana had given him a look that brooked no argument. Reluctantly, Alistair had agreed to let it drop for the moment and taken up a watch position. The dishes had been cleaned quickly and then set aside. What came next was the real reason Alistair had accompanied them: to provide watch for them as the two women then bathed themselves. Constant, too, took up his duty, wandering in and out of the brush and trees as he followed his path around the area.

They had been at it for a while when Alistair heard a soft, rumbling growl, growing ever louder as the hound neared his position. "What is it, boy?" Alistair asked carefully, still unsure if the hound would cooperate with him. The last time he'd tried 'talking' with the hound, back at camp, he'd been on the receiving end of a very stiff nip of his hand.

Constant barked then, a somewhat soft sound, but loud and strong enough to alert Alistair that something or some _one_  unexpected was approaching. Turning towards the path, the direction that the mabari was facing and projecting his vocal annoyances, Alistair called out, "Show yourself!"

Until this day, Alistair had not realized that one could chuckle with an accent. However, the moment that the sound was made audible, he had known it for the man who had so recently joined their group. "Oh, it's you."

Zevran's chuckle seemed to be even more amused now. "And so it is."

Alistair heard Constant rumble again beside him, watched as the Antivan seemed to eye the hound a bit warily.  _Good. At least we are in agreement._ "Why are you here?" he asked then, wondering if the elf would give him a straight answer. From the first, it did not seem as if it would be possible. Everything the assassin said was slanted or filled with innuendo or meant to disarm, dissuade or distract.  _Leliana … I'm afraid those lessons are going to be difficult to remember …._

"I am here, my friend, because our Warden friend allowed me to be."

Alistair sighed.  _Will you never …._  Constant barked sharply then and Alistair glanced briefly down at the animal. He seemed intent upon what the elf was carrying. Lifting his gaze towards that, Alistair realized what Zevran's intentions had been.  _Right._  "Well, you'll need to go back to camp for now," he finally managed, his gaze narrowing just a bit. "You can clean up after they're done."

Zevran smirked. "Why, my friend, why did you not say so! Far be it from me to interfere in your little assignations."

The smug grin on the elf's face was making Alistair's eye twitch, of that he was certain.  _Assignations?_  Alistair could feel the heat creeping up his neck at the thought. Thankfully, it was dark enough that it shouldn't be noticeable … he hoped. Glaring harder at the elf, Alistair was surprised to hear the man ask, "Still with the stern glances, Alistair?"

Alistair's frown deepened. He needed to find a topic to discuss that would be safe. Or, as safe as possible when speaking with someone like Zevran. "Tell me … why did the Crows send you? Why didn't they send their best men?"

Though he saw the elf blink in response to his demand, it did not seem to phase him much. "And for this I must suffer all of these fearsome glares? You are cruel to subject me to such torture."

Another growl from Constant then, as if to remind the elf that Alistair was the one asking the question and that he, the elf, had better answer. Making a mental note to find the hound some sort of treat later to thank him for backing him up, Alistair reasoned, "Well, if you aren't telling me, it must be for a reason, right?"

Zevran gave an exaggerated sigh then. "If you must know, the masters do not often take contracts outside of Antiva. And I made the best bid."

That caught the Warden off guard for a moment. "Best bid?"

Zevran nodded. "We agree to pay the guild a portion of whatever the contract offers. The one who agrees to pay the most receives the contract as long as the guild deems them worthy."

Alistair wondered if his skepticism showed. He supposed to a Crow, it probably would. "And they thought you were worthy?"

Another nod. "Against a pair of Grey Warden recruits? Apparently so."

Curiosity finally getting the better of him, Alistair asked, "Were there many who wanted the contract?"

A sort of smile played at the elf's features then. "None. You are still Grey Wardens, after all, and even in Antiva, killing members of your order is considered … impolitic. It made the guild's decision considerably easier, I imagine."

"Hmm," Alistair mused, his glance meeting the hound's for a moment. "That's comforting … somehow, I suppose."

Another slightly sinister chuckle, or at least one that certainly meant something more than Alistair thought it should. "But not as comforting as your lovely young companions out there, si?"

And there it was. All the efforts that Alistair had been making in keeping his composure … right … down … the … drain. Alistair heard Zevran's chuckle deepen and knew that the elf  _knew_  what he was doing. "They're not … I'm not … Oh, Maker's BREATH!" With his exasperated sigh, it even sounded like the hound began laughing at him then, too.

* * *

Leliana glanced over at Bryallyn and giggled softly, her hand lifting to cover her mouth to keep the sound from traveling.

"You have been working with him, yes?" Bryallyn asked, though her voice, too, was tinged with amusement.

"It was as you asked me, yes," the bard agreed, "though even if he does ever manage to learn how to do so, I do not believe it will be of use. He does not understand the concept of keeping quiet!"

Bryallyn giggled this time and Leliana followed suit. "I just want him to be able to not have to deal with blushing every time you or Morrigan or now, apparently, Zevran, decides to tease him mercilessly! I don't expect him to suddenly learn any rogue skills!" As she exited the water and began drying off and dressing then, Bryallyn couldn't help but wonder if someday the skills might be useful for her brother Warden. Alistair was a great friend and a very sweet, if a somewhat sheltered and innocent, friend.

Leliana followed suit and soon the two were gathering up their belongings and retracing their steps until they reached Alistair, Zevran and Constant. Alistair must have heard them approaching, for he turned to face them and Bryallyn could see a light of relief in his eyes as he realized who it was. "I will get the rest of the things," he said hastily before scurrying off to do just that.

Swallowing her amusement, Bryallyn elbowed Leliana as the bard giggled loud enough to tempt the ranger in the same direction. Swallowing her amusement, however, Bryallyn gestured Constant forward and murmured as she passed Zevran, "The water is all yours." By the time she neared the edge of the camp, she, Leliana, Constant and Alistair, a bit out of breath as he had hurried to catch up, all entered together.


	57. Blasts From The Past

By the time the party neared Denerim, Zevran had become an accepted, if not entirely welcome, addition to their little 'family,' which Bryallyn found to be somewhat amusing, particularly when the elf was able to make some remark that even caught the likes of Wynne or Leliana off guard to such an extent that the resulting frustrations were more than obvious upon their faces. It took a lot of extra effort on Bryallyn's part to not laugh at their distress or at the smug look Zevran always had afterwards.

The night before entering the capital city, they made camp nearby but more set off of the road than usual since the highway in these parts would be so well traveled. While they did not want to go to extra lengths to exactly hide their presence, neither did they want it openly advertised. They made their camp, ate their meal and before setting the watch that night, Bryallyn called them all together.

Once all had settled and their eyes were upon her, Bryallyn began to brief them. "We have much to accomplish and very few of us with whom to make that happen and only one day in which to accomplish it," she explained. "So, while we are here, we will each have certain assignments to make certain we forget nothing. Agreed?" Apparently, her no-nonsense attitude was being taken seriously. "Good." Pulling out a piece of parchment from her pack, Bryallyn opened it up before them. On it, over the past few days, she had been reconstructing a map of the city of Denerim from memory. She hoped she had everything labeled right.

"The trick is going to be," she continued, "to get in and out of the city without being noticed for who and what we are by the guards." At some soft rumblings among her group, Bry glanced up. With a smirk, she added, "For the most part, I think we'll be okay. The guards in the city do not have the best reputation for being … observant, despite any additional measures Loghain might have put into place."

Alistair snorted. "That's one way to put it." He had briefed Bryallyn the night before on what he knew. Before heading to Ostagar with the rest of the Wardens, Duncan had brought them all to Denerim to the Warden compound there. During his time in the city, Alistair had roamed around and observed. It was those observations he had shared with her.

Turning her attention back to the map, Bryallyn began to point out certain locations. "First and foremost, we need to see about finding some sort of work where we can earn some coin. We have some things we can trade," she reminded them while referring to the weapons, armor and other sundries they had collected from the defeated darkspawn along the way and other bandits who had dared challenge them. Teagan had also given her a small sum to assist, but Bryallyn kept that in reserve, for emergency purposes. It never hurt to be ready for a 'just in case' situation. "I think if we check around the Market District, we should be able to find some work. Also," and Bryallyn glanced over at Sten for this, "there could be some opportunities down at the docks where they might need someone to assist with heavy loading and such." She saw Sten nod somewhat reluctantly.

"Zevran, I'd like you and Morrigan -" Bry paused and glanced up at the apostate briefly when she heard a dryly muttered, "Oh goody." "Problem?" she asked.

"Of course not, my dear Warden," Zevran assured her with his usual flair and a soft chuckle. "Now, what is it you wish for us to do, hmm?"

"I want you and Morrigan to go here," she pointed to a small alleyway near the center of the marketplace. "The shop is called  _The Wonders of Thedas_ , and should have many of the components that Morrigan and Wynne use and will need." She handed over a 'shopping' list of sorts. Wynne had put it together before they had broke camp that morning. "My concern, Zev," she told him honestly when she noted a slight lack of interest there, "is in keeping you out of sight of any Crows who might be around." She had taken his words to heart when he told her that, having failed in his mission to kill her and Alistair, the Crows would want him dead instead. Zevran snorted, but nodded once in compliance and said nothing more. Even Morrigan was suspiciously quiet on the subject.

Turning to face Alistair and Leliana then, Bryallyn told them, "We will be taking care of certain … personal matters first and then we'll see about finding Brother Genitivi and then some work, hmm?"

Alistair was the first to nod his agreement, a look of appreciation mixed with relief crossing his features. When he had mentioned his sister and hinted that he had wanted to find her if they made it to Denerim, Bryallyn had mentally made a note to make sure that it happened. After all, family was family, whether they knew you or not, and she supposed her own current circumstances played into it, but she was adamant that this one thing did happen for him.

As for Leliana …. Bryallyn glanced over at the bard. She was quiet, more withdrawn than usual, and Bryallyn could understand why. Not two days before they had been ambushed yet again, though this time it had been mercenaries who, according to Leliana, had been sent by her former bard master. The leader of the group had provided them with an address, and though it seemed to be a rather obvious trap, after further conversation between the two both Bryallyn and Leliana had agreed that the situation would need to be dealt with as soon as possible.

"Any further questions?" Bryallyn asked then, looking at each individual and verifying for herself. No one seemed to have anything, and so she nodded and rolled her map up. "Good. We'll get underway just after dawn, I think," she explained. "I think we all will have a very busy day ahead of us."

* * *

"Busy" didn't begin to describe it by half. After breaking their fast and taking down their camp, the party set forth the last couple of miles towards the capital city. They entered in separate groups to hide the fact that they were together but, despite what they assumed would be increased security by Loghain and (as it turned out) Howe in his new role of Arl of Denerim, they were allowed entrance through the gates. A short while later, they met one last time in a darkened alleyway some distance into the city. "We will meet back at the campsite this evening," Bryallyn reminded them quietly after one last briefing. "Good luck to us."

After the group split up, Bryallyn along with Constant, Alistair, Leliana and Wynne turned towards the Market District where, according to Alistair's information, they found the home of his sister … the harpy queen. After a brief discussion in which the woman only seemed to be interested in having a sibling if she could get money out of it, Bryallyn gently suggested to Alistair that they leave. When the woman turned on her then, making wild suggestions regarding Bry's and Alistair's relationship, Bryallyn nearly turned to snap at Goldanna herself. However, Alistair jumped in and soon thereafter was guiding his companions outside once more. Bryallyn watched Leliana and Wynne wander off a short distance - still nearby if needed, but giving privacy so that Bry could speak with Alistair - before she turned to face him. Looking up at him, Bryallyn felt a mixture of anger and dread and several other feelings bubbling through her just then. "Alistair, I'm -"

"Don't," he told her quietly. "Bry, just … don't." He gave her a lopsided smile then that she could see was less than complete, and she could not help but reach out for his hand to squeeze it reassuringly. She was encouraged when he squeezed it back, just hard enough so that she would know he was okay.

Speaking softly, Bryallyn tried again. "Alistair, I hate to say it, but she is the proof that some people are just out for themselves." She heard him sigh, felt a slight tremor run through him then, and she added softly, "Perhaps the 'proof is in the pudding' as the saying goes?"

Alistair blinked in confusion. "The proof is in the - Oh." He smirked a bit then. "You mean I should learn that, don't you?"

Bry offered him a warm smile. "It might make dealing with people in future a bit easier," she offered. It was, after all, something she had learned at a very young age as well.

One last, heavy sigh, and Alistair nodded. "I may not like it, but yes … I think you might be right at that, Bry." She watched him try to refocus then and felt her smile widen as he seemed to settle himself. Shoulders back, standing tall. "Right then," he told her a moment later while looking around for Leliana and Wynne. "I think we have some place else to be right now, don't we?"

As the two women rejoined them, Bryallyn nodded. "That we do." Her gaze met Leliana's then and both women's faces seemed to harden just then with grim determination. "We need to see a woman about her message."

As had occurred with Goldanna, Marjolaine clearly had ulterior motives upon the party's arrival. However, as Bryallyn had reassured the bard after their encounter with the mercenaries, the group was behind Leliana completely. And when it seemed as if Leliana might falter, Bryallyn spoke up in her defense. As she did so, Bry observed Marjolaine carefully, taking in some of the more subtle signs that Leliana had been showing he since Redcliffe and their discussion of training. Bryallyn, ever a quick learner though she could not necessarily repeat them, she did recognize them and used them to her advantage in defending her friend. Whether Marjolaine understood that this came from Leliana's instructions or plain luck, Bryallyn would never know, but it didn't really matter in the long run she supposed. Marjolaine ultimately left them with no choice the moment she signaled her people to attack first.

While not unprepared for this eventuality, the woman's timing did catch Bryallyn off guard at first. However, thanks to Wynne and some fancy fingering (Bryallyn wished normal people could learn that cone of cold thing. It came in so handy sometimes!), the damage was kept to a minimum. By the time the confrontation was over, Bryallyn's party was still standing, thankfully, and Marjolaine's was not … though it had been a near thing as she soon found out.

"Bry!"

Alistair's cry of alarm, from over near Marjolaine's bedroom where he and Leliana had gone to verify that all opponents had been taken care of, somewhat startled Bryallyn, but by then she was leaning rather heavily upon Constant who was whining his concern for his mistress. Bry vaguely heard Alistair's bellow for Wynne on the other side of the small house, though she was too distracted by the hazy darkness beginning to swirl around her. She held onto Constant, who was about the only one or thing keeping her upright at the moment, and allowed the hound to lead her over to a chair. Both Leliana and Alistair reached her first.

"This is my fault."

"No," Bry whispered, her hand reaching out towards Leliana. "Any and all blame lies with Marjolaine and only Marjolaine."

Wynne arrived then and quickly began to examine Bryallyn. After some moments of tense silence, she found the issue at hand. "Young lady," she chided gently as she worked, a light healing spell rolling off slightly gnarled fingers and towards the injury, "you need some better armor. The blade was able to make its way through a gap, here." She indicated the location of the wound, on Bryallyn's right side where the armor would usually buckle close together. However, due to the fact that her pregnancy was beginning to show, the armor was not securing as tightly together as it should.

As for herself, Bryallyn simply nodded, fighting off the darkness that was still seeking her out. "On the … agenda," she managed in a raspy tone.

Alistair frowned. "Your armor doesn't fit you?" he queried in confusion. "I know Wardens have increased appetites, but -"

Bryallyn heard Wynne chuckling beside her and found the sound to be highly infectious. As she, and soon thereafter Leliana, joined in, Wynne deadpanned, "Alistair, you do know where babies come from, don't you?"

While Alistair sputtered and struggled for a moment, finally emitting a somewhat strangled, "Pardon?" Leliana reached for Bryallyn's hand and squeezed tightly. It was clear the two younger women were fighting to not openly giggle at Alistair's predicament.

Wynne, however, continued. Though her focus was on Bryallyn, her words were meant for Alistair. "I know the Chantry says you dream about your babies and the good Fade spirits take them out of the Fade and leave them in your arms...but that's not true. Actually what happens is that when a girl and a boy really love each other -"

A coughing rasping chortle escaped Leliana then, and the bard had to turn away to keep Alistair from seeing. Not that he wouldn't know anyway, but one did try to maintain certain courtesies after all. "Andraste's flaming sword!" the senior Warden protested, a glare aimed first at Wynne and then at Leliana's back. "I know where babies come from!"

"Do you?" Wynne challenged, the glow from her hands beginning to die down then. "Do you really?"

"I should certainly hope so!"

Bryallyn nearly lost it then and had to pull her hand from Leliana's to cover her mouth. When Alistair gave her a hard look, she found herself coughing to cover it. Even Constant was making noises that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

"Oh, all right then," Wynne murmured as she stepped back from Bryallyn and placed a hand upon the younger woman's shoulder. Glancing up at Alistair, she smiled and observed, "Aww, look, you're all red and mottled. How cute."

No longer able to control their reactions, Leliana and Bryallyn both began roaring in laughter. Maker help them, they could not help themselves! Alistair, on the other hand, was nearly glowering. "You did that on purpose!" he accused her.

Wynne, for all her skills as a mage, pulled off a frighteningly convincing look of innocence just then. "Now, now, Alistair. Why would I do such a thing?" she asked.

"Because you're wicked," he told her. "That frail old lady act? I'm so not fooled. I'm on to you now."

Gasping for air, Bryallyn groaned as a sharp pain shot through the area that Wynne had just healed. "Please!" she begged as she gasped for air. "Please stop … making … me laugh!" This reaction set Leliana off once more and Bryallyn groaned again as she followed suit. Ultimately, she had to lean forward and bury her face in Constant's neck.

Giving an exaggerated sigh meant to tell the three women just what he thought of their antics, Alistair muttered, "Perhaps we should move on then? Hmm? I seem to recall our fearless leader saying we had a busy day ahead of us."

Within a short time the laughter died down and the group gathered together the items they had liberated from Marjolaine and her men (they would have no further use of it) before they exited the house. Walking beside Alistair for a moment, Constant on her other side just in case, Bryallyn murmured, "You do realize, don't you, Alistair? Wynne did that to help Leliana."

Alistair nodded, his mood still somewhat sober. "I know she did," he returned quietly. "I figured that out when she made the crack about my face being red." He glanced behind him briefly at the mage and then the bard, concern deepening. "I think Leliana and I have some similar lessons to learn."

Bryallyn nodded. "Perhaps," she agreed, though she was certain that Leliana was not nearly as naive about people as Alistair was. "Might do to talk to her at some point, perhaps when you're still working on those 'I'm not blushing' lessons, hmm?"

The concern gave way to amused chuckles then. "Perhaps," he agreed. Straightening, he continued, "Now then. Shall we go and see if we can find this Brother Genitivi you mentioned last night? I'd like to think we could accomplish  _some_ thing today while we're here."

Bryallyn smiled and nodded. "I agree." And with that, she began leading the way across the market towards the good brother's home.


	58. Truth Be Told

" _Tell me what happened."_

Nathaniel remained silent for a time as he carefully pondered how to proceed next. Fergus deserved an explanation, he had no doubts there at all. For him, the question was how to go about it? The man was clearly not at his best health-wise. Would giving him a recounting of events just make things worse? Or even cause new problems? Especially once he found out about his family? After all, Nathaniel 'knew' certain things, was 'fairly certain' about others, but the rest, well, he was just guessing as best as he could. No matter what he told Fergus, Nathaniel knew the man was going to take a hit, and a hard one at that.  _Perhaps I should bring Trinion or one of the other Highever men back here …._

Nathaniel took a seat on the edge of the sleeping platform then, his head lowering as he stared at his hands in his lap. Unconsciously, he began cracking his knuckles, and the sound echoed throughout the small area.  _Not the best of things to be hearing just now,_  he supposed. Taking a deep breath, Nathaniel began with the tale of what had occurred aboard  _La Gaviota_. When he arrived at the part with Devlyn's warning, Nathaniel did pause again, eyeing Fergus carefully. This was where it became tricky. "He told me that the castle was to be attacked, that your father and his entire family was to be destroyed …."

Up until this point, Nathaniel had kept his descriptions vague, general. It wasn't that he was trying to protect his father by any means, just that he wanted Fergus to know what all had occurred before he was distracted by the magnitude of the crime and who was responsible. But, he should have known that Fergus wouldn't let him get that far.

"Who?"

Nathaniel, to his credit, did not cringe nor hesitate in responding. He understood all too easily that there was no way this would end well. So, instead, he simply answered, "My father."

* * *

Fergus had sat up more as Nathaniel began telling him of the attempt that Devlyn had made on his life aboard the ship. Being alone, basically, out at sea and having your best friend betray you in such a way … he just couldn't imagine it. Oh sure, Trinion and the others had been there, watching his back for him, but to have one of your best friends betray you like that? That was something more. And then the warnings. Highever. His parents. His wife and son. His sister ….

It was at this point that Fergus began feeling a deep sense of dread and foreboding building in the pit of his stomach. He could see, by Nathaniel's reactions - or perhaps non-reactions would be a better way to describe it - that whatever had occurred had affected him deeply and profoundly. Fergus had no reason to think that it would not be the same for him … though when his sister's husband announced that it was his own father behind all of it ….

Fergus had heard of the expression 'seeing red' before when applied to those who, when angered, would just … go off. Though he had not met one in person yet, he supposed that the description was apt for those warriors who followed the berserker style of warfare. However, in that moment, in that time and place, as the meaning of the two words spoken by Nathaniel slowly began to penetrate the fog surrounding his brain at that moment, Fergus found that he could only 'see red.' And in that moment, he began to see a series of images flashing before him just ….

_He was a child, running around and playing at castle Cousland, not a care in the world …._

_The day his baby sister was born and the looks upon his parents' faces when he'd announced that he'd prefer to have a mabari …._

_His first day of training with his father and the men that he knew he would someday have to lead into battle …._

_The Satinalia festival in town when he was twelve and his sister had used her rudimentary ranger skills to help save him …._

_The first time he laid eyes upon Oriana and somewhat later, the nervous energy he had exuded as he asked her to become his wife …._

_The day his son was born and the joy he had felt … and holding and consoling Oriana when their subsequent attempts for more children had failed …._

_His sister pleading with him to run interference with Thomas Howe because it was Nathaniel she wanted …._

_Standing beside Nathaniel the day he married Bryallyn and finally being able to call the man brother …._

When the images subsided and his vision cleared, Fergus came to several realizations all about the same time. First, he found his cheeks damp with tears that were falling freely and that he could not seem to stop. He could accept that. His father had once told him that holding back when grieving was not the best way to deal with one's emotions. Second, he could hear an almost animal-like growl of pain and anguish and only belatedly realized it was coming from his chest. Though startled by this, he also found that he could not stop it either. Third, Fergus had somehow managed to propel himself across the bed where he had been laying and onto the floor, his hands alternately beating somewhat weakly against Nathaniel's chest and shoulders when not attempting to cut the air off to the man's lungs by pressing both hands around his neck. This, perhaps more than anything, surprised him most as both he and K'danya had wondered just how much mobility he might get back in his leg after the injury and infection, and when he did, just how much. And then finally, that Nathaniel was not fighting back at all against him. His brother by marriage just lay there, not trying to protect himself in any way, not making a sound, nor offering any excuses. It was this last that finally broke through the haze to the man beneath.

Pulling himself up short and forcing a distance between them, Fergus could hear the raspy gasping noises as they both struggled to breathe just then. After a few tense moments, Fergus dared to look over at Nathaniel, his eyes latching onto Nathaniel's steely grey gaze.

"Why?"

* * *

When Fergus pulled back, Nathaniel remained where he was, as he was, though he did roll over onto his side finding that the position made it a bit easier for him to find air. Though he didn't believe there was any lasting or serious damage, he had felt at least two ribs crack, and his neck hurt like the very demons that must have possessed Rendon Howe at the time for him to do such a thing to the Couslands in the first place.

"Why?"

Nathaniel heard a number of emotions in that one, plaintive wail. It was a simple word, but one that required a very complex reply. It was also one that Nathaniel did not have the answers for just yet.

"I wish I knew."  _Definitely bruised vocal cords,_  he thought as he heard his own hoarse response.

Silence reigned again, and this time Nathaniel moved to sit up. He knew Fergus deserved a better answer, but he had none to give at this time. He knew some things for certain, was fairly sure of others. But he refused to speculate on the things upon which he had no solid evidence to back up his conclusions.

Fergus, however, was beyond seeing reason just then, and Nathaniel could not blame the man. "My sister," he protested, his anger so vehement that his voice was shaking with it, " _your wife_  - was murdered by your father!"

Nathaniel sat there looking over at Fergus. The man's body language screamed utter defeat. He hoped that the news he was about to impart would help with that … somehow, at any rate. It would not be the same as giving him back his entire family, but …. "Bry is still alive, Fergus."

Silence. Raspy breaths still echoed about the room, but at least the accusations were no longer being flung. "You've … seen her then?" Fergus finally demanded, his voice now regaining its strength. "You've spoken to her? Where is she? Is she here? With the rest of your men?"

 _And now comes the difficult part in which I explain to my brother that I am just a little bit … crazy._  Sighing heavily, Nathaniel shook his head. "I've not actually  _seen_  her, so to speak," he ventured. The look Fergus gave him then reminded him of Bryallyn. That cocking of the eyebrow in doubt and question at the same time. As strange as it sounded even to his own mind, Nathaniel somehow, all because of that one look, knew that things would resolve themselves and work out.

Another sigh, and Nathaniel absently reached for the ring on his finger, idly twisting the band as he struggled to explain. "I … As strange as this will sound to you, brother, I ask that you listen." Fergus nodded, but said nothing, and Nathaniel took the time to explain about the instances he had been experiencing, meeting Bryallyn in the Fade. Beginning with that first instance, right after the attack by Devlyn on board the ship and up until his most recent one, near Lothering. It took some time, and he stumbled a time or two as he sought ways to explain all that seemed unexplainable.

"All I know is what I have just told you," he finally concluded. "The last time I  _saw_  her, we both concluded that it must be our rings that were binding us together, allowing us to find each other in the Fade."

* * *

To say that Nathaniel's story was verging on the incredible was an understatement, Fergus supposed. Though he listened as Nathaniel explained about the rings, their being a Tevinter product, supposedly keeping the couple connected in heart, mind and soul, Fergus still had his doubts. Oh, he believed that they were Tevinter made, there was no reason to doubt that. He'd known others who had obtained similar items in the past. But to actually have something like that connect one person to another? That smacked of magic, and considering that Tevinter was famous (or infamous, depending on your point of view) for their blood mages, it was a route he found himself preferring not to travel.

"So … Bry is safe?" he queried then, certain his confusion must still be evident.

Nathaniel shrugged. "From what I can tell, she is as safe as we are," he returned.

Fergus' eyes narrowed and bore down on Nathaniel. "Why do I not find that very reassuring?"

Nathaniel actually snorted in amusement then and Fergus found himself curious. "Fergus, this is your sister we are talking about. The ranger. The stubborn woman who -"

Fergus shut his eyes then, a soft chuckle of wry amusement filtering through his lips. Lifting a hand, he waved off Nathaniel's protests. "I'm well aware of my sister's stubborn nature," he returned, a slight curve to his lips though he'd be loathe to call it a smile. "She gets that from our mother." A twinge then, at the thought he would never be able to tease his mother about that ever again. Or his father. Or ….

* * *

Nathaniel watched Fergus closely. It was all fine and good to have the man even attempting to joke about Bry, but he knew that sooner or later the pain and anger would return. It would come and go for a long while, he suspected.  _And the blame is all at your feet, father. I hope you are ready for the retribution that will surely find you._  Sighing, Nathaniel attempted to rise to his feet then. After several moments, he was successful, at which point he crossed to Fergus and laid a hand upon his shoulder. "We'd best get you back in bed," he suggested. "I would not want to face your healer if she should find you out of it."

Fergus accepted the hand that Nathaniel offered then, his eyes opening and meeting them. Both men shared a look, and then reality began to settle upon them. Rendon Howe had to pay for his crimes. Nathaniel had already accepted this. In truth, looking back over the weeks since the attacks and the influx of knowledge that followed, he supposed he had been working towards a state of quiet determination regarding what had to come next. But knowing that Fergus was alive would help. Perhaps he could guide Fergus' focus into that as well, give the man a goal to help keep him going. Keep them  _both_  moving forward.

* * *

"Probably for the best," Fergus muttered as he leaned heavily against Nathaniel while returning to the sleeping platform. "I intend to leave with you."

He waited for an argument, a protest, some sort of reaction from Nathaniel that would inevitably belong to the,  _Oh no you won't, you're too injured to keep up with us_ , category. He was ready to protest, and truly wished the man would do so. But as Fergus slipped beneath the bedclothes once more, he realized Nathaniel wasn't going to accommodate him. Instead, he offered, "We were looking for surviving men of Highever. Of course you will be welcome."

The curtain at the door was opened then and Fergus glanced over to see K'danya approaching. Glancing up at Nathaniel, he murmured, "We need to convince  _her_  to let me leave." He saw Nathaniel smirk at that and wondered just what that meant.

"Considering they had men out looking for us and brought us to you, I've no doubt they will let you leave," he finally returned. "In the meantime, I need to go see to the others, find out where we should set up camp for the night." Fergus met Nathaniel's gaze as the younger man looked over at him. "We will not leave without you, that I will swear."

Fergus nodded and lay back as K'danya began to fuss over him and Nathaniel departed. He had much to think on at the moment. Now would be a good time to start.


	59. In Denerim Town

Alistair's words regarding the good brother proved to be … wholly unnecessary. After arriving at Genitivi's house and gaining entrance, the best they were able to do was talk to the man's assistant, Weylon, who, as it turned out, was of almost no help either. He was quick to inform them that Brother Genitivi was missing, that he'd heard nothing from him for quite a while in fact. And while this did not surprise Bryallyn much - the man was probably researching his next book, after all - there had been something unusual in Weylon's behavior, though Bry found that she could not quite put her finger on it.

It was while speaking with him that Bryallyn noted a curious reaction which she filed away to speak with the others about later. As she attempted to encourage and convince Weylon to answer some more questions regarding Brother Genitivi's last known whereabouts, Constant began sniffing around the room, apparently bored with the conversation. This in itself was not strange, keeping a mabari on task at times was harder than many people thought. It was Weylon's reaction to the hound that she found had her curious. The man became rather agitated, more and more distracted from their conversation, until finally, in order to get him to answer a few relatively simple questions, Bryallyn ordered Constant back to her side. Reluctantly, the mabari did as told and Weylon seemed to calm almost immediately. The only thing Bryallyn could figure was that he was concerned with Constant damaging some of Genitivi's artifacts or papers that were set out about the room. At any rate, it was shortly after this that the man finally gave up Genitivi's last known whereabouts. "Lake Calenhad."

Thanking the man for his help and hinting that if she and her friends traveled in that direction they would keep an eye out for the good brother and let him know of Weylon's concerns, Bryallyn began guiding the others out of the home. Once outside, her group gathered around her, Bryallyn heard Leliana murmur, "Well, I must say that the man has little or no manners!"

Bryallyn, Alistair and Wynne all chuckled. "I suspect that was the furthest thing from his mind just then," Wynne counseled.

"I thought it seemed a bit … off in there," Alistair added with a bit of a frown. When Bryallyn turned to look at him, he added, "I can't quite explain it though."

"I was thinking the same thing," she told him with a smile. "I thought perhaps he was worried about Constant," the hound yipped at the mention of his name, "damaging some of the brother's artifacts or papers." She offered the others a somewhat sheepish grin then. "I forget sometimes that not everyone is familiar with mabari behavior."

The Chantry bell rang then, tolling out the mid-morning bells across the marketplace. "So then," Alistair queried, "what are we to do now?"

Bryallyn took a moment to look around them, taking in everything and everyone in the area to see if she might find some inspiration. As her eyes lit upon one of the guards, a sergeant if she understood the uniforms and rankings well enough, he caught her attention and gestured her over. Straightening, she announced with a slight nod before her, "Let's go see if the good sergeant has anything he might need done. If we can make some coins, we'll be all the better off, no?"

The idea turned out to bear quite a bit of fruit in the end. The sergeant, after a brief explanation of why he could use the assistance, sent them off to rid a brothel called  _The Pearl_  of some mercenaries. Though not exactly what she might have had in mind at the beginning of the day, Bryallyn assured the man that they would take care of the matter. Within the hour, they were meeting up with the Sergeant once more, and he seemed pleased enough with the job they had done. Before they could speak much, however, the disgruntled mercenaries decided to seek their revenge. After successfully defending themselves and the Sergeant's men, Bryallyn heard the Sergeant saying, "And people actually voluntarily attack you?"

Bryallyn laughed at his reaction. "Believe it or not, yes," she replied with a grin.

The look of incredulity on his face kept her smile in place. "Are they just stupid?"

"It would seem so, yes," Alistair offered off-handedly, turning to join the conversation.

They chatted a bit longer then, and the Sergeant explained that he had one more 'disturbance' that he could use assistance with if they were interested. Bryallyn glanced up at Alistair and they took a moment for some silent communication before she agreed to take the job. This one, the Sergeant explained, was another group of mercenaries, though they were causing issues at The Gnawed Noble Tavern on the edge of the Market District. The place was owned and operated by Edwina, though after the trouble the mercenaries, a group called the Crimson Oars, had been causing, she didn't appear to care if they were roughed up a bit during the removal process or not. When Bry offered an arched eyebrow at this, the Sergeant chuckled. "Edwina's a unique one, I'll grant you."

Agreeing to take on the job, Bryallyn led the others back to the marketplace and to the tavern. As they entered, she whispered, "Let's try to keep the fuss to a minimum. This looks like a good place for us to return for our mid-day meal." That in mind, Edwina directed them to the side room. What they found was not, in the grand scheme of things, impressive, or so Bryallyn thought. It took some effort, some strategically worded suggestions, but after a while, the mercenaries finally decided to leave. Bryallyn had Alistair and Leliana follow the mercenaries just to be sure they caused no further problems as she and Wynne stopped to speak with Edwina on the way out. Aside from a small jibe for being so diplomatic (the woman apparently had wanted a bit of violence. Who'd have known?), Edwina told her to tell the Sergeant that the job was satisfactorily completed.

A short time later, after passing along the message, and subsequently being paid for both jobs, the Sergeant also let it be known that he had no quarrel with the Wardens. As far as he was concerned, they were not responsible for the death of the king or the loss at Ostagar. Bry and Alistair shared a look at that comment, and both seemed to be a bit relieved at the man's words.

After making their goodbyes, the group left the Sergeant and his men and returned to the marketplace and began a discussion of what to do next. They hadn't gotten far before the Chantry bells began ringing half-one and almost as if on cue, Bryallyn's stomach began to rumble. Leliana began giggling, Wynne attempted to hide her amusement behind the back of her hand but was unsuccessful as her eyes brightened with laughter, and Alistair gave her a look. Returning the gaze with one of her own, he clarified in a somewhat quiet voice so as not to broadcast to those standing around them, "Just curious if that is junior saying he's hungry, or if your Warden appetite is kicking in."

Bryallyn offered a soft snort of amusement in return and was about to tease him back in some fashion when Alistair's own stomach echoed the sentiments of her own. Laughing outright, she grinned up at him. "I guess you have your answer there," she teased.

Looking a bit abashed, Alistair returned the grin nonetheless and nodded. "I guess I do at that."

Glancing over at Leliana and Wynne, Bryallyn asked, "Shall we return to the Noble then?"

This finally decided, they did just that. Upon entering, they headed to a table in the far back to give them some privacy. Settling at one of the tables there, Bryallyn was surprised to look up to find the barkeep himself standing beside them rather expectantly. As their eyes met, she saw that expectant look transform into a broad smile. "How may I serve, my lady?" he inquired.

Bryallyn was about to correct him on the proper way to be addressed when she hesitated. There was something about him that she found to be familiar. "Have we met?" she asked instead.

The man nodded, his head bobbing up and down a few times before he turned to include the others in his welcome. "Indeed we have, my lady, though you were just a wee lass at the time. Your parents were in town for a Landsmeet and they and your brother and you came in for a meal. I doubt you'll remember, but I do. Name's Cyril." He reached into his pocket then, fumbled for a moment and when he pulled his hand back out, Bryallyn could see that he held a coin of some kind between his fingers. Handing it over to her, Bryallyn took it carefully in her hands and started to examine it. Recognition hit instantly. Years before, her father had commissioned the smith in Highever to make a unique sort of coin. No more than one hundred had been minted, but on one side was the heraldry of Highever, the two green spears crossed over a large pale green raindrop. On the other side, the Cousland heraldic device consisting of a wreath of laurels.

"What's that you have there, Bry," Alistair asked as he glanced over her shoulder to look.

"My … My father had these coins minted for a purpose," she whispered, her eyes lifting to meet Cyril's again. "You are correct, ser, I do not recall the incident when I was younger." She handed him the coin back then. "Though it is clear to me that you knew my parents well." Bryce Cousland only distributed those coins to people he had long trusted or whom he owed a favor. The coin was meant to prove that, should they take it to a member of the Cousland family, the debt would be repaid.

"That I did, my lady. I had the fortune of meeting them during the final stages of the siege of this city. Your mother once attempted to do me a great service, though alas, the timing of it was unfortunate and she was unsuccessful. During one of their later visits, your father gave me this, told me I had but to ask for any favor and it would be granted." The man smiled at her then as he pocketed the coin. "I do not wish any favor at this time, but rather would offer you the same in return." He turned to glance around the room quickly before adding, "I know you and your friend here are being watched for."

Bryallyn blinked as she tried to process the information he had just imparted. She had found out several very valuable pieces. Smiling up at him a moment later, she told him, "Thank you, Cyril. We may just need to take you up on that. In the meantime … may we get something to drink?" Her stomach rumbled again and everyone laughed. "And some food, please."

Chuckling, Cyril waved one of the girls over before sending her off to the kitchens to bring back food. He himself stepped away for a moment and soon returned with a tray containing mugs of ale. He set them out on the table before turning to head back to the bar, content that they would be well set for the time being.

"So tell me, Bry," Leliana commented as she tasted the brew and found herself smiling, "who is this man, hmm? He seems to know you well."

Bryallyn smiled. "I had nearly forgotten," she mused, her eyes staring off into the distance for a long moment as she recalled the story her parents had told her and Fergus often. "It was during the battle for Denerim, when King Maric was attempting to take back Ferelden from the Orlesians." She glanced over at Alistair and found him listening intently too. Turning towards Wynne, she asked, "Would you have been there, Wynne? You are of the right generation, are you not?"

Wynne chuckled and took a good swig of her drink. "My dear, I was but recently harrowed and still at the Tower at that time," she explained. "But we did hear of the battles that King Maric fought it. Heard too of his last confrontation upon the top of Fort Drakon with King Meghren."

Bryalyn nodded. She was not drinking much of the ale, the flavor of which was not agreeing with her at the moment and she knew to be more of an issue because of her pregnancy than anything else. Setting her drink aside then, she continued, "Well, my mother, who was very pregnant at the time with my brother, had come along with my father to assist in the battle. However, being so far along with child, my father would not let her into combat, and so she decided one day to do something useful like make arrangements for ale to be sent to the Highever troops. That was how she met Cyril. He was one of the apprentice brewers at Aylesleigh Brewery."

The serving girl arrived then with four bowls of stew, some chunks of bread, and a large meatbone for Constant to gnaw upon. Thanking the girl for her forethought, Bryallyn tucked into her bowl quite quickly and took several moments to enjoy the flavors that floated across her tastebuds.

"So what happened after your mother met Cyril?" Leliana asked between mouthfuls. She, too, was enjoying the food, most especially since she was not the one to have made it.

"They talked for a while, made the arrangements and all for delivery, but Mother also found out that Cyril was stuck upon the other side of the river." Bryallyn took a bit of bread and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "He was engaged, you see, to a maid who lived in the palace district with her lady. They had become separated when he arrived at work some days before and the battle lines had shifted. At that point, he was not allowed to cross back over."

"Sadly, once battle lines get drawn, it is the innocents who end up suffering," Wynne murmured. Bryallyn glanced over at the woman, a bit startled. The feeling behind the mage's comment had been almost … vitriolic. Concerned, Bryallyn made a mental note to talk with the woman later to see if there was something troubling her.

The next few moments were a bit stilted and awkward, but Bryallyn soon found her tongue once more and continued her story. "My mother did find the woman, eventually," she explained quietly. A sad smile tilted her lips. "Though, in the end, Amélie did not stay. She was assisting her lady, you see." Bryallyn was tilting her head to look at Alistair when something about the story suddenly hit her.  _Amélie, maid to Lady …._

"Your mother?"

* * *

Alistair looked over in concern as Leliana and Bryallyn both gasped the words at each other at the same exact moment. A quick look at Wynne assured him that the mage was in as much a state of confusion as he was. Apparently, the confusion must have shown because Bryallyn continued on almost immediately. "Amélie was your mother!" She sat back in her seat, shock clearly overwhelming her for a moment, though Alistair had to admit to himself he was uncertain as to the reason.

Leliana nodded, though, a dumbfounded look crossing her features. "That … that would mean …."

Both women turned towards the bar then, and Alistair's gaze followed as they all watched the man behind the counter while he served another customer. "I think …," Bryallyn murmured, her head turning to look over at the bard, "I think you need to go and introduce yourself."

Alistair frowned as he observed Leliana. She looked as if she'd rather be anywhere but there at that moment, or so he thought anyway. He felt a sharp tug in his chest then too, and a sudden urge to protect her from … something, though he knew not what. Almost absently, he lifted a hand to rub at the spot. He was missing something.

"I … I can't," Leliana protested then, her features so pale that Alistair wondered if she was about to faint.

But Bryallyn moved quickly to reassure their friend. "You can," she murmured, rising to her feet. "I'll go with you."

And before he could protest or ask for any explanation to what was happening, the two younger women had started walking over towards the bar. His eyes narrowed in concern and confusion, Alistair looked over at Wynne. "I just missed something important," he muttered, eyeing the mage closely for her reaction. "Didn't I?"

Wynne chuckled then, gently to be sure, but she was laughing nonetheless even when she hid her smile with the mug of ale as she took a drink. A moment later, she reached out and patted the top of his arm. "Let me see if I can explain this so you might understand, Alistair …."


	60. The Road to Haven

The time in Denerim had been somewhat productive in the long run. Though personally, things for Alistair had not gone well, and Leliana had ended up more or less on a high note after a rough start, the group  _had_  succeeded in making enough money to purchase the supplies and equipment that they needed. Bryallyn could feel a bit more confident when going into battle that her companions would now have a much better chance coming out unscathed than they had before this venture. Even Morrigan and Zevran had managed to pull a few, if not magical then miraculous maneuvers, and wound up not only with the items they were sent to purchase, but returning with said items plus more in funds than when they'd begun the day. When confronted regarding this, Zevran swore to Bryallyn that he had not resorted to any illegal means, and when Morrigan was brought into the matter, the apostate remained sufficiently vague as to the source of the monies, but the woman backed up the elf's story. In the end, Bryallyn had been too exhausted from the day's efforts to pursue the matter any further and had let it lie … though she did not miss the shared look and sly grins that both witch and elf exchanged as they turned away.

Leaving the capital, the group began heading west. Bryallyn felt the next logical best step for them would be to search for Brother Genitivi at Lake Calenhad as Weylon had offered. Though she could sense some less than enthusiastic reactions to this plan, particularly from Sten and Morrigan, no one offered up a better suggestion and so the decision was made. They would head west.

They were working on two weeks out of Denerim (and only a few outside of a rather intriguing visit to an inn beside Lake Calenhad by name of  _The Spoiled Princess_ ) and establishing camp for the evening when Bryallyn and Leliana, both on cooking detail that night, glanced up from their preparations at the sounds of wooden creaks and groans of an approaching wagon. No sooner had both women drawn their bows and aimed than they realized just who their visitors were. Bryallyn rose to her feet first, brushing her hands off before following the cart further into the sheltered camp. "Bodahn," she called out in pleasant surprise as she approached, "you and Sandal are a sight for sore eyes!" Truth was, Bryallyn and her companions had agreed to allow the dwarven merchant to come and go as he saw fit because he often returned with better items for trade whether they be armor, weapons, enchantments or just plain rumors.

The dwarf chuckled, stepping away from the cart as Sandal moved to prepare their camp for the evening. "And I, you, my friend," he told her. When he gestured a bit of distance away from the wagon, Bryallyn nodded her understanding and walked a ways with him. "Something on your mind, Bodahn?" she queried after a moment.

"Well, you see, m'lady," the dwarf began in his usual manner, "the boy and I have been traveling a bit. Around the country like."

Bryallyn swallowed back a grin and chuckle of amusement. She'd lost count the number of times she had explained to the dwarf she was not to be referred to as 'my lady,' but Bodahn being Bodahn simply chose to speak as he would. Bryallyn had finally given up trying to change this, particularly since the items he often had more than made up for it. "Had some interesting travels, have you?" she teased lightly.

Bodahn chuckled. "Nothing too adventurous, m'lady," he promised. "Have been keeping the ears open, as it were, and came across some tidbits you might find valuable."

Bryallyn nodded and waited as patiently as possible. She had discovered from the beginning that Bodahn would tell his tale in his own time and manner. There was no sense in trying to rush him.

Clearing his throat, he began. Bryallyn listened in stunned fascination at the breadth and depth of the rumors that the dwarf had collected this time. The last update had been mostly about Ostagar - Loghain and his varying reasons as to why he would have retreated. Unwilling to upset Alistair with the news, Bryallyn had kept that information to herself. But this time, she realized, she might have to bring not only her fellow Warden in, but the rest of the group as well. The news was unsettling, to say the least. Again, many of the rumors were focused on King Cailan - his infidelities, reasons that Loghain might have wanted him to die, even a hint that Queen Anora had been childless so far because she was from common stock and not royalty. Bryallyn pushed those aside. And they were not of import just then and could be dealt with (if at all) later. "And then there's the plight of those Dalish elves in the Brecilian Forest," he continued, his voice deepening slightly in concern. "It seems some hunters who have gone in there have found one of the clans there to be overcome by some strange sickness. What it is, they didn't know. And that wasn't all! On their way out of the forest, rumor has it they were attacked by werewolves! Can you imagine?"

Bryallyn felt her brow furrowing at the dwarf's words, her thoughts beginning to narrow. The elves were one of the groups specified by the Grey Warden treaties. If they were having troubles now, perhaps she should be leading the group in that direction instead of ….

"There's also word that the old dwarven king, Endrin Aeducan, has passed on. That one's probably true. He was old back when I was leaving," Bodhan added musingly. "On the other hand, could be that one of the noble families, or even one of his three children there got tired of him, had him poisoned or assassinated. That's usually how they go about it."

Another group whose support they needed for the treaties.  _Maker's breath!_  she thought.  _We're going to be having to help all these people with their problems before they'll agree to help us, likely as not._  "Any other rumors I need to know about, Bodahn?" she asked. Bryallyn glanced around camp in search of Alistair, but he had not returned yet from getting water with Zevran. She and her fellow Warden needed to have a long discussion, it seemed, regarding their next move.

"Well, m'lady, seems that Loghain is calling for levies on troops to help rebuild the armies from Ostagar. He's even got press gangs grabbing the free men, leastways, that's what I hear out of Dragon's Peak."

Bryallyn's frown turned to a scowl then. "Figures," she muttered. "And no doubt he's thinking to use them for reasons other than fighting the Blight." Sighing, she began pinching the bridge of her nose with her forefinger and thumb, fighting off the inevitable headache that would be forthcoming. "Sorry, Bodahn. Please continue."

The dwarf simply offered her a smile in response to her apology. "Certainly. I've also heard tell that there have been knights from Redcliffe wandering around the country searching for something." Bryallyn's attention was caught by this and she glanced back at the dwarf, a brow lifting in question. Nodding, he continued, "Though, it's becoming rare to find them now. Perhaps they've all gone back to Redcliffe." The frown returned.  _There were only a few at Redcliffe when we left,_  Bry mused silently. The sound of approaching voices caught her attention then, and she glanced across camp to find Alistair and Zevran returning. She was about to signal Alistair to join her when she noted that both men appeared to be ….

A soft giggle from over by the fire drifted her way and Bryallyn turned to find Leliana rising to her feet to go and assist. "I see that you both decided to take a bath while you were busy!" she teased. Bryallyn chuckled too. Still and all, she thought that Alistair and Zevran might finally be getting to the 'tolerant' stage with each other.

Turning back to Bodahn then, Bryallyn heard the dwarf adding, "There's also a rumor floating around out there that the Lady Isolde tried to poison her husband so that she could marry Bann Teagan."

 _THAT_  announcement sent Bryallyn into a coughing fit as she breathed in sharply and tried to swallow her amusement. The case was so bad, it had the dwarf patting at her back frantically, murmuring, "There, there," over and over again, while glancing around for Wynne. When he finally spotted her, Bryallyn was aware enough to realize that he had signaled the mage over to assist. Bry gasped for a breath then and struggled to reassure the dwarf, but it only set her off coughing once more. By that point, however, Wynne was beside her and assisting her as she could. "Thank you, Bodahn," Bry finally rasped, feeling a light wave of healing magic flow to the affected area in her throat. "We can talk more later."

Bryallyn allowed Wynne to guide her over near her tent so the mage could finish examining her, but the older woman seemed to be less concerned than before after hearing that Bryallyn was able to speak again without the fit continuing. As they settled down just outside the tent, Bry heard Wynne ask with some cheek, "Was it something he said?"

Bry chuckled softly. She repeated the last bit of information that Bodahn had passed on to her and was not surprised when the mage began laughing as well. The thought that Bann Teagan would agree to such a thing was quite amusing, indeed. "Yes, well, rumors do tend to begin based on some small kernel of truth, you realize." The mage moved on to check the nearly healed wound from their adventure in Denerim, a move that reminded Bryallyn that she must check with Bodahn regarding some better armor. "I understand that," Bry returned. "I guess it's just after speaking with Teagan as much as I did while we were there, I find it to be so … unimaginable?"

"From his perspective, yes. I will agree with that. From Isolde's, however, …." Wynne allowed her voice to trail off then. "Well, you seem to have healed nicely there, if I do say so myself." Bryallyn grinned as she rose to her feet once more. "Thanks, Wynne."

As she crossed the camp to rejoin Leliana by the fire, Bryallyn glanced around. Morrigan appeared to be working on potions or something of the like in her own camp. Zevran and Alistair with Leliana's assistance had managed to get the water over by the fire as evidenced by the stew now beginning to give off some rather delicious smelling aromas. Neither of the men had left, she noted. They were deep in discussion with Leliana about something, though Bry could not tell from her position just what it was. Sten was breaking firewood along one of the outer edges of the camp, Constant sitting nearby and giving his own canine comments periodically. That had Bryallyn pause for a moment and smile. It had surprised her at first just how well the dog and the qunari had gotten on with each other, but after observing them together, it began to make more and more sense. This also had helped Bryallyn in her efforts to understand Sten better, too.

She neared the fire then and, unsurprisingly, Alistair rose to give her his place to sit. He was doing this more and more of late and Bryallyn found herself wondering if it had more to do with the fact that she was a woman or expecting or both. Whatever the case, she was thankful for his kindness. Seating herself, she soon found herself drawn into the discussion her friends had been having.

"We were discussing that little … incident, back at the  _Princess_ ," Alistair informed her as she sat.

Bryallyn nodded and accepted a cup of tea from Leliana as the bard handed it over. "I've been giving it some consideration as well," she returned. Then glancing at each one of them individually, she asked, "Have you come to any conclusions?"

That the strangeness of the incident had stuck with them for so many days since the encounter did not surprise Bryallyn at all. The people who had attacked had been different, that was for certain. From their manner of dress to their fighting style, and even some of the tattoos observed, Bryallyn and the others had found it all somewhat disturbing. Both Wynne and Morrigan had examined the weapons and found odd sorts of magical abilities imparted upon them, odd in the sense that they either were not familiar with them or that they had been used in ways that were not 'normal.'. Additionally, Leliana had pointed out some of the similarities and differences in some of the amulets that each of the slain individuals had worn. Still and all, the attackers not been much different in their appearance and all than some of the bandits who had attacked before. Their battle cries, however ….

Leliana was the first to speak. "I know that look," she murmured, watching Bryallyn closely. "What is it you haven't told us? Hmm?"

For all the seriousness of what they had to discuss, Bryallyn did chuckle at Leliana. The bard was indeed able to read her well. Which reminded Bry that she needed to be working with Leliana more on those bard skills. Who knew when the ability to mask one's feelings might become necessary, right?

"I'm more curious about this … what did he call it, Haven?" Alistair queried. "That place the innkeeper said he'd overheard them talking about."

"Ah yes, my friend, he did call it Haven, I believe," Zevran interjected before turning his gaze to observe Bry closely. He, too, had this habit of reading her well. "Have you heard of such a place?" he asked her. "I will admit that I have not, but then my knowledge of Fereldan geography is somewhat limited."

Bryallyn nodded, murmuring, "I have heard of it, actually," a move that had all three of them looking at her in some surprise. Blushing slightly at the reactions of her friends, she told them, "I know vaguely where it is located. It isn't much to go on, but it's more than what we had before."

Bryallyn proceeded then to share the information she had been given by her parents over the years. She began with the story of how her parents had met, of their flight across the country after the Battle of White River and into the Frostback Mountains. "They came upon Haven completely by accident," she explained, "and they found it to be a rather odd place. To start with, the guard at the town did not want to allow them in."

"But … why?" Leliana asked, her brow furrowing at the thought.

Bry shrugged. "I have no idea. Neither did my parents. Another guard finally came along though and let them in. But what really caught my attention from their stories," Bryallyn pulled out one of the amulets that Leliana had given her after the ambush beside Lake Calenhad, "was what the store owner told them. My parents were simply looking for information about the surrounding geography, to find out if there was another town along their way and all. The one person in the village who might know, they were told, was the Revered Father."

After a brief silence, Alistair asked in some confusion, "Revered Father? How odd. Were they some sort of branch of the Imperial Chantry do you think?"

Bryallyn glanced over at Leliana. It was a thought. The Tevinter branch of the Chantry not only had their own Divine, but also allowed male priests. Leliana was clearly giving the matter some thought, her brows furrowing together. "I do not think so," she finally replied. "It would be too difficult to survive for so long without being found out … although …." She paused for a long moment. Shaking her head in confusion, she finally continued. "I  _suppose_  it could be possible that a branch of the Tevinter's faith that survived after they left Ferelden … but that just seems so unlikely since the fall of Tevinter here was well before Andraste and the Exalted March …."

Bryallyn found herself musing on this as well. She wondered, if only briefly, what her old tutor, Aldous, would think if he could hear her having this discussion right now. "Whatever the case," she finally continued, "based on what Finian told us, I think we need to head to Haven to find out why these people attacked us. It sounds like they might have an idea of where Brother Genitivi could be found."

"Well, if  _that_  is the case," Leliana began while rising to her feet and extending an arm towards Bryallyn, "then you and I have some unfinished business, my dear! Zevran, would you keep an eye on the stew for a few minutes, please?"

The elf chuckled, but was quick to give his assent. "But of course, my musical friend."

Leliana grasped Bryallyn's hand when the Warden was slow to respond and began pulling her to her feet. "Come on!"

Bryallyn stumbled a bit at the suddenness with which she gained her feet. "Leliana … what are you doing?" she mumbled as the bard began pulling her through the camp. Behind her she could hear both Alistair and Zevran chuckling.

"If we are going to Haven,  _you_  are going to get some new armor! Bodahn, did you fetch it for me?" she called out.

"Indeed I did, m'lady!" the dwarf hollered back. "Master Wade had it ready as you asked!"

"Leliana, what is going on?" Bryallyn asked in confusion as they came to a halt beside Bodahn's wagon.

"Well, you were so intent upon helping the rest of us while we were in Denerim," the bard explained while handing over some coins to the dwarf, "after that incident at Marjolaine's house, Wynne and Alistair and I decided we needed to do something for you."

"Here you are, miss."

Leliana's gasp was quite audible as she took the new armor from the dwarf. "Oooh! This is marvelous!" she exclaimed, a bright light shining in her eyes like a child on their birthday. Turning to Bryallyn, she told her, "Now, take that armor off and try this. Master Wade is supposed to be one of the best armorers in all of Ferelden!"

Stunned, it wasn't until Leliana reached out and began working on Bryallyn's buckles that the younger woman reacted. "But … I …." Truth be told, Bry knew she needed armor that would fit her better, but other than the family sword she carried and the shield Alistair used, this was her last connection to her family, and she was loathe to part with it.

Leliana seemed to sense this. Reaching out, she rested a hand on Bryallyn's shoulder. "Look," she murmured before gesturing towards the new armor.

Bryallyn gasped as she examined the leather a bit more closely. The new armor had the Highever and Cousland crests emblazoned upon it! "Leli! What? I mean, how? I mean …."

Leliana saw tears leak out the edges of Bryallyn's eyes and quickly hugged her friend. "When I was speaking with Master Wade, he mentioned-bragged, more like!- that he had made armor for many of the nobility in Ferelden. I asked if that meant he could make some fit for a Cousland and he agreed." Well, it hadn't been  _that_  simple she supposed, but in the end, he had agreed and that was all that had mattered. "Now, try it on. Please?"

Silently, Bryallyn did so. Bodahn assisted by taking the pieces of old armor from her, "To put up until a later time," he assured her, and Leliana helped her into the new. A short time later, buckles tightened, adjustments made, Leliana stepped back. "So. What do you think?"

Bryallyn still felt overwhelmed and was fighting back tears as she touched the armor where it flared out just enough to protect her expanding waistline. Leliana had shown her how it was adjustable, that Wade had made alterations to the design (and not without complaint!) so it would continue to accommodate her increasing girth as her pregnancy advanced. "This … this is just …." Bryallyn tried to find the words to express her gratitude, but she was having difficulty getting past the generosity of her friends.

Leliana chuckled and began leading Bryallyn back over to the fire. "That is enough," she assured her quietly. "It fits, it will keep you and your child safe, yes? And," she added with a twinkle in her eye, "it is quite stylish!"

This last did cause Bryallyn to laugh a bit, and appeared to be just enough to move her beyond her momentary emotions. "Thank you," she murmured, turning to give the bard a quick hug. "And I will be sure to thank Alistair and Wynne later as well."

Leliana patted Bryallyn's shoulder as they continued on then, each moving to sit beside the fire. Zevran was just stirring the stew while attempting (and succeeded, Leliana noted) to goad Alistair into another of his red-faced blushing sessions. But with their arrival, the two men turned to comment upon their leader's new armor and the moment passed, though, Leliana did make note of it so that she would work on it the next time she had the time to work with Alistair. For now, however, she would focus on the moment at hand, the company of friends and the simple daily tasks of life, including feeding the troops.


	61. Sitting On The Docks

Nathaniel and his companions spent several days with the Chasind, but it became quite clear rather quickly that even the Wilder folk were preparing to move on … and soon. Between Fergus and K'danya, Nathaniel came to realize that the moves were something happening with increasing frequency, and the reason was all too clear. The darkspawn horde, and with them the Blight, was on the move. It was on the morning of the sixth day since his arrival that Nathaniel and Fergus came to an agreement. It was time for them to leave. With several last, quiet instructions from K'danya, and a pouch of tea leaves, Fergus bade her and the other Chasind farewell as best he could despite the language barrier between them.

The journey for the new teyrn was arduous given the extent of his injuries. Nathaniel, out of earshot of his brother-by-marriage gave instruction to both Nyles and Padraig to keep an eye upon their lord and to be certain that he received what assistance was required. Even if the man protested. The two warriors agreed without question. Nathaniel's hope was that by the plain and simple fact that both men were of Highever, it would make acceptance of their help that much easier for Fergus.

Their journey out of the Wilds took them some weeks, most spent retracing the paths that the Chasind had brought them in upon. After a considerable time, however, the landscape began to resolve itself into something somewhat familiar to Grayson and Gryffyd, enough at any rate they could firmly tell Nathaniel that they were on the right path out of the Wilds. This did not, however, speed up their progress, and Nathaniel soon found himself with a challenging decision to make. They could turn west and north, head towards the hilly and eventually mountainous climbs leading to Rainesfere and hope that there might still be additional Highever men there while praying that Bann Teagan would take in a somewhat crippled man and provide him with proper treatment and healing for his wounds, or they could turn north and east, heading out into the relatively flatter country of the Bannorn that would no doubt be crawling with darkspawn in addition to the men that his father and Loghain had sent out, no doubt. Highever would  _not_  be a destination; not so long as Rendon was claiming the teyrnir. But if they went somewhere other than Highever, where? Did they dare venture towards Denerim, so close to his father's ancestral lands and where his control was more solidified? Nathaniel had to believe that his father knew by now that he was still alive, that Devlyn had failed in his mission to assassinate him ….

In the end, however, it was Fergus who made the decision for him. "I will not leave you now," he informed Nathaniel the night they broke free of the Wilds. "I did not leave one group of caretakers to be dumped upon another."

Sighing, Nathaniel faced his brother-in-law, their eyes meeting across the campfire. "Fergus, be reasonable! You know as well as I do that Bann Teagan can offer you what we cannot. He has access to healers, a safe place to rest and recuperate …."

"No!" Fergus' tone was harsh, filled with anger and still-new pain. "This is  _MY_  fight too, Nate! Until we find justice for my family, it will remain so. I can pull my own weight -"

"You already slow us down!" Internally, Nathaniel was hating to play this card, but someone had to show Fergus that the timing was not yet right. "In the time that it has taken us to leave the Chasind behind, we could be nearly to Rainesfere if you were healthy and whole! Instead, we have barely broken free of the Wilds and are only south of Redcliffe!"

Fergus rose to his feet, albeit slowly and stiffly. "I stay," he stated in a flat tone. "End of discussion."

Nathaniel had risen to his feet too, facing off with his friend. "I did not think it possible, but you are even more stubborn and pig-headed than your sister! Even she would admit that this is the right plan of action!"

As Nathaniel turned to stalk away, he heard loud laughter bellowing behind him. "You have obviously not had cause to quarrel seriously with her as of yet, then!" Fergus shouted after him. Nathaniel simply grumbled and made his way towards his tent intending to rest before his turn at the watch that night. As he settled into a rather disgruntled heap upon his bedroll and closed his eyes, he muttered beneath his breath, "Bry, your brother is proving to be quite the pain in the backside!" And though he could almost hear an amused chuckle that sounded suspiciously like his wife, he did not meet her in his dreams that night.

* * *

He continued to keep an eye upon them from a distance, though it had not been an easy task by any means. Every last one of his skills in stealth had been put to the test over the past few months. In the end, only two things had ultimately kept him from their sight: the fact that they did not know he was there, and the distractions of Ostagar.

 _Ostagar_.

The word still made him shiver in remembered pain and anguish. So many lost, the near destruction of the Order. The sight of his brothers lost, the newly re-created Order of Ferelden cut down in its infancy. But strangely, no evidence of the one he had expected to find beside his friend. Still, it had been all he could do to just get in and out of the battlefield quickly, just present long enough to verify the deaths of known comrades, memorizing the names of the fallen to do justice to later. There was no time for honors or pyres here at this time, for the darkspawn were still there aplenty and actively on the hunt. He'd had  _no time!_  Urgency, promises made he fully intended to keep simply to honor those who had passed, he could not linger there. As it was, he'd had to fight his way back to rejoin his charges, to keep them safe. The fact that they never even knew he was there, had been away, and was now returned was reward in itself for a job well done.

He'd led the way out for them, striking a path clear of all obstacles but those that nature provided. And then, for a time … he had nearly found himself in a panic as out there in the middle of the Wilds he had lost them. For days, he had sought signs of their trail and found nothing. Not a hint. Not a glimmer. He'd all but given up hope, thinking that perhaps his luck had simply run out, that Fate had dealt him a bad hand as she often did when he tried his hands at Wicked Grace. He was no longer able to keep them under surveillance. Six interminably long days and nights in which self doubt began to creep in and he felt despair at the thought of breaking his last promise to a friend ….

… and then his luck had returned nearly tenfold, just as suddenly as it had disappeared. Not only had he found them - or, rather,  _they_  had nearly found  _him_ , practically stumbling across his small camp as they exited the Wilds - but thanks to their new addition to the party, they were moving at a slower pace, giving him time and opportunity to move back into his position in the lead once more. That was how he found himself here, now. Ahead of them. In place. Acting casual, as if he belonged in this place. The only thing setting him apart from the locals in that tavern was his accent, and it was because of this that he did not speak much. But then again, he did not have to. He was a listener. A gatherer. A magnet for information. The one called Trinion had recommended this place where he found himself now. The man's lord, the newly added one to the group, had agreed. He had made an assumption based on this and moved on ahead.

Mere hours ahead of his 'pack,' he had stumbled upon another surprise. More evidence that the Order that Duncan had strove so vigilantly to resurrect had indeed survived. Finian, plied with enough coin, caution and carefully worded questions had provided enough detail that he could fill in the blanks. At least, most of them. And what a picture it was beginning to make, he mused as he made a place for himself in the darkened corner of the common room and simply waited.

* * *

"You are sure about this place?" Nathaniel queried as he, Trinion and Grayson led the way down the hill and towards the inn. The surrounding area could not even be considered a town, so small was it. Nathaniel had seen no evidence of homes or businesses other than the inn (and a rather worn down one at that) and a nearby boat dock. An inn along the shores of the Lake Calenhad … but for what purpose? In the distance, Nathaniel could see the hazy shape of a spire as it worked its way into the sky. The Circle Tower. He supposed the proximity of the inn to the Tower might serve a purpose, but how likely were the mages to receive visitors? Did the Templars even allow that?

"Aye, my lord," Trinion returned then, his words breaking into Nathaniel's thoughts. He and Grayson exchanged a quick, knowing look that Nathaniel could not fail to miss. Rolling his eyes, Nathaniel asked with some trepidation, "What is it this time?"

The two men of Highever both chuckled, but it was the voice behind Nathaniel that responded to his question. "Have they not told you yet?" Fergus hobbled a bit faster to catch up to them. "Grayson's family is related to nearly all of the innkeepers throughout Ferelden."

Nathaniel was shocked enough to stop walking, a move that caused Fergus to nearly run into him. Automatically reaching out his arm to give his friend support, Nathaniel breathed, "Maker's breath, you're putting me on!"

Fergus laughed and shook his head. "Sadly, I'm not. Though, given our current circumstances that might not be a bad thing. I think we can at least rely upon the innkeeper's discretion about our visit, yes?" His eyes traveled over to Grayson how nodded quickly.

Moving once again, Nathaniel darted a quick look over at his scout whose look turned a bit sheepish. "Just slipped your mind, I take it?" Nathaniel challenged softly.

Grayson's grin widened then. "Something like that, my lord," he agreed before scurrying on ahead towards the building.

Fergus' amusement had settled into a soft chuckle. "I'm somewhat surprised he had not yet told you."

"Oh, I knew about the cousin in Highever," Nathaniel explained as they approached the doorway. He reached out to open the door and hold it open for Fergus and was about to walk through himself when a glimmer of the setting sun behind him flickered upon a patch of discoloration just beneath his fingertips. That caught his eye enough that his curiosity kicked in, his other senses following quickly behind. The location was just above his eye level. Logic suggested that it had been caused by a lantern or a torch, but for two reasons, Nathaniel knew this not to be the case. First, the scorched area upon the wood was too widespread and too darkened, looking as if it had been caused by impact rather than by something that had been resting upon it. Though what sort of impact, he could not quite say. Second, there were no other indications that any lantern or such had ever hung in that area. No signs of brackets or braces that would have held something in place against the wood. No scars or weathered lines in the wood to suggest that the sun had beaten down upon it and marked the wood for all time.

He must have hesitated a moment too long because Fergus turned back to face him, taking a step back in his direction. He seemed about to speak when his eyes followed Nathaniel's line of sight. Eyes widening at what he saw there, Nathaniel began to suspect that Fergus was having similar thoughts to his own. Shaking his head for the moment, Nathaniel urged his friend inside and followed Fergus to the bar where Grayson, Trinion and the others in their party had gathered and were now accepting drinks. Soon, both he and Fergus had their own drinks in hand, promises of a meal forthcoming and rooms to follow soon after, all that remained was a place to sit.

"Please, join me if you like."

Nathaniel heard the accented voice calling from the corner near the hearth and reacted by glancing over at Fergus for his opinion. The room was crowded, tables filled but this one. When Fergus shrugged slightly, Nathaniel decided to take the chance and began heading over. As he neared, he realized that something in the man's tone seemed familiar, but he could not quite place it. "Thank you, friend," he said by way of greeting, gesturing for Fergus, Trinion and Rhyan to seat themselves as well. The rest of the men were scattered throughout the tavern, their eyes upon their leaders should they be needed but otherwise removed from the current discussion. "We are much obliged."

Though still seated in the shadows, the voice rumbled softly in a deep, raspy chuckle as its owner began to lean forward a bit in order to join in the conversation. As he did so, Nathaniel noticed the flames reflecting off of the man's face, accentuating sharpish, almost hawkish features. Nathaniel felt his gaze narrow just a bit. "You have traveled a long way, have you not?" the man enquired, his grey eyes meeting Nathaniel's. Again, Nathaniel felt that peculiar tingling sensation at the back of his mind as if he had met this man before. "It would be most unwise not to rest one's legs after such a journey."

"Indeed," Nathaniel returned before lifting his tankard in silent salute.

Apparently, Nathaniel was not the only member of the group to find their new companion somewhat familiar. "Forgive me if I seem too forward," Rhyan murmured, "but have we met before? I feel as if I ought to know you."

Another good natured chuckle. "Indeed we have, m'amoiselle," he replied, his voice now more like a raspy purr, "though I am quite impressed that you should remember. The last we met we were but ships passing in the night …."

Though Rhyan still appeared confused if the look on her face was any indication, the man's carefully chosen words finally triggered something in Nathaniel's memories. "Aboard ship," he murmured in amazement, "just before we docked in West Hills."

The man smiled then, his teeth shining brighter in the firelight. "It is so," he agreed with a nod.

Nathaniel held the man's gaze as he heard Trinion, Rhyan and Fergus murmuring around him, presumably the two bringing Fergus up to speed with the circumstances of their first encounter with this stranger. "So then," Nathaniel asked after the voices had died back down enough that he could be heard once more, "are we to presume that you have been … trailing us? Tracking us? This entire time?"

"Protecting you would be more accurate," the man returned. Leaning further forward and into the light, he announced just loud enough for their ears only, "Let me introduce myself. My name is Riordan. I am a Grey Warden from out of Jader. I was comrade-in-arms with the Warden Commander of Ferelden. Before Highever fell, Duncan sent word to me in Jader, asking that I track you down," he looked directly at Nathaniel, "in the Free Marches and ensure your safe return to this country."

Nathaniel and Fergus exchanged a quick look. Both men had met the Warden Commander in Highever before their departures. "But … why?" Nathaniel felt obligated to ask. "Why me? Why not Fergus? Or -"

A look of sympathy passed over Riordan's dark features. "I wish I had answers for you, my friend," he replied quietly, "but sadly all I know was in the brief missive that Duncan sent me. It was requested that I find you, see you safely returned and assist you to Ostagar if necessary. Duncan seemed to be impressed with your skills, and those of your wife."

Another silence. "My wife." Nathaniel's words came out flat and neutral as he intended them to be. He had felt Fergus stiffen beside him, but thankfully his brother-in-law remained silent for the moment.

Riordan nodded. "She lives. You know this, yes?"

Nathaniel's eyes narrowed sharply at that. "How do you know? What proof do you have?" Beneath the table, Nathaniel slid his hand over to Fergus' leg and squeezed once, sharply to keep the other man silent. This was an avenue he had to explore fully before anything was said of what they knew.

"Duncan mentioned to me his intentions of traveling to Ostagar and taking your wife along with him. Of inviting her to join the Order. From what I have been able to gather since arriving in Ferelden, things did not quite happen according to plan."

Fergus snorted then, bitterly muttering, "Yeah, you could say that."

Riordan gave a moment's pause, as if to acknowledge the other man's pain, before he continued. "Those were Duncan's intentions, yes. But then Howe attacked and plans, as we all know, in the heat of battle can change. They did again at Ostagar too, I believe. I followed you there, intent to keep my promise to my friend. And while you mourned your losses, I did my duty. Wardens are meant to fight darkspawn, and so I did. Did you not wonder why your journey there and through the Wilds was so uneventful?" Riordan tossed back his drink then. "It was while clearing the surrounding area that I found evidence that suggests that the Wardens of Ferelden had been destroyed."

Nathaniel's eyes narrowed further. "And yet you tell me that my wife is a Warden and she lives?"

Riordan nodded. "Or rather, I tell you that your wife lives and that, most likely based on what I knew Duncan's plans to be, she is now a Warden. I found proof of two Wardens fighting to freedom, far away from the others in Ostagar. Just how they broke free from the darkspawn, I cannot explain, but I can tell you this much: your wife would be the only female Warden in all of this country. And if she was not, she would have been left under the protection of another Warden for her safety. Either way, I did not find her remains with any of the Wardens. I was able to account for all of Duncan's recruits but your wife and one other. They would have been the two newest recruits, the least experienced in fighting the darkspawn. I believe that they were held back, kept from the main part of the battle."

"To what end?" Fergus demanded.

Riordan shrugged. "To ensure that the Wardens survived? To secure the future of the Order in your country? I cannot give you an answer that I do not have."

"That is your proof then?" Nathaniel challenged. "The fact that you did not find her body amongst the others?"

"There is more," Riordan assured him. "I know for a fact that just by a matter of a few weeks, you have missed her and her companions, here." He used a hand to make an all inclusive gesture around the room.

Again, Nathaniel held the man's gaze as the voices around them rose in confusion. "The scorch marks? On the door?" His comment silenced his companions just as surely as if he had reached out and closed their mouths himself.

"Yes. Sadly, those in positions of knowledge have been sworn to secrecy to protect the members of that group." Riordan seemed almost dismayed at that fact, and Nathaniel could not help but wonder if he took it as a personal affront that he had not been able to find the answers he seemed to want or need so badly. "But, she is alive and we should find her."

Nathaniel glanced over at Fergus one last time then and saw his friend shake his head in a negative manner, just enough to answer the silent question that Nathaniel had sent. Turning his attention back to Riordan, Nathaniel asked, "And how do we do that, if you do not know where she is?"

Riordan did chuckle at this, an amused smirk playing at his lips just then. "I have been following you for months, observing you without you even noticing." Glancing up and across the room to the bar where Grayson stood leaning somewhat casually against the counter, he ventured, "Do you not think I know who is related to whom in these parts?"

Nathaniel turned to glance across the room over at Grayson and noticed the scout's brow raise in slight surprise. However, the man was not so stunned that he could not react when Nathaniel signaled he should attempt talking to Finian on their behalf, pulling his cousin off to the side and engaging in a deep discussion.

One of the serving girls brought food at that moment, placing it before them upon the table. They partook of the meal then, mild and casual conversation amongst and surrounding them, and for some time were content with the current circumstances. It had been a long while since most had eaten anything but what they had prepared themselves and, as middle-of-the-road as the tavern might be, the food was truly excellent when compared to camp food night after night after night.

Most were just scraping the bottom of the bowl with their last crusts of bread when Grayson came over and joined them, pulling up a seat from a nearby table. Positioning himself between Fergus and Nathaniel, the scout announced in a somewhat subdued tone, "I'm sorry. Finian is frightened by something. What that something is, he will not tell me. All he will say is that he refuses to go back against his word to Lady Bryallyn." Grayson gave Nathaniel an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, my lord."

Nathaniel found himself completely confused.  _Bryallyn? Intimidating?_ He just couldn't picture it. And, though he had no clue with whom she traveled these days, he did find it difficult to believe that she would allow intimidation to such an extent without stopping it.  _Or had she changed so much?_  he wondered.  _Did she see something that night that affected her so deeply …._

"The only thing he could tell me was that when they parted company, he did step outside to watch them leave," Grayson continued. "He said he saw them heading north. Beyond that, he will say nothing."

Nathaniel met Fergus' gaze. "Highever?" he mused.

"I would say this," Riordan interjected before Fergus could respond. "There is at least one Grey Warden in that group. The duty of the Grey Wardens is to end the Blight, whatever the cost. And, while I know that you and she have a personal connection to Highever and would dearly like to see justice prevail there," his gaze met and held both men's at that point, "their first duty will always have to be to stop the Blight."

Fergus sighed almost dejectedly as did Nathaniel. "Not Highever then."

"If not there, then … where?"

Nathaniel scrubbed his face with his hands for a moment, attempting to recall any and all maps of Ferelden he had ever viewed. "The Imperial Highway is north," he murmured as he mentally reviewed it all. "From there, they can go east across the Bannorn towards Denerim or west around Lake Calenhad towards the Frostback Mountains."

"The Wardens have ancient treaties with the dwarves, the elves and the Tower for assistance in time of need," Riordan added. "If they have access to these treaties, then perhaps they are recruiting allies?"

Rhyan frowned in thought. "Perhaps they were here to obtain the mages help then and are now heading to Orzammar?"

Nathaniel found himself nodding in agreement with her, the darkened splotch upon the doorway coming to mind. He knew little about spells, but he was aware that there were elemental ones that used fire and lightning. Either could have caused such a mark.

"I find myself more curious as to how one or two Wardens, all alone in Ferelden, aim to succeed in defeating the Blight all by themselves," Trinion mused.

Riordan chuckled. "You anticipate me, my friend," he murmured. "Part of the reason I chose to make myself known to you today was because I must part ways with you and head to Denerim. I have kept my promise as best that I can," Nathaniel nodded his agreement to that, "and I know that Duncan kept records of personal contacts throughout various smaller Warden compounds around Thedas. If I can find this list, I can contact some of the closer ones in his name, request their assistance and increase our numbers sufficiently so that success against the Blight can be assured."

Nathaniel nodded, his eyes meeting Fergus' again. "I think that would be a good start," he returned. "And while you do that we can … proceed to Orzammar?"

Fergus shrugged. "I don't see why not," he replied. "I have my doubts whether or not we will find them, but if nothing else, perhaps my status as Cousland heir might help with something. Father was always on friendly terms with the dwarves."

"It is decided then." Riordan raised his tankard, silently saluting his companions. "In war, victory," he toasted them. "And Maker willing, we shall meet in the not too distant future to celebrate together once more."

A short time later, Riordan rose and gestured Nathaniel aside. Nathaniel followed, intrigued by the man who not a few hours before had been a stranger to him. "I suspect," the Warden told him quietly, "that our paths will take some time to cross once more. No doubt we will all face trials and tribulations that would send those much weaker to their knees. You have the potential for great leadership. I think I can see what Duncan saw in you."

Nathaniel blinked, somewhat embarrassed by the man's praise, yet pleased all the same. "You hardly know me," he protested.

"I trusted Duncan's judgement," Riordan told him sincerely. "I have no reason to believe otherwise." He began leading the way out the door and smiled when Nathaniel followed. "I must leave tonight, my friend. I travel best alone, preferably by dark so that I can use the shadows to my advantage." Nathaniel nodded. "One more thing, young Howe."

The tone of voice sent chills down his spine, but Nathaniel still managed to respond. "Yes?"

Riordan flashed him a somewhat cheeky grin. "Always remember, should times become too difficult and you need inspiration … always look to the griffon." And without further word, he turned and left Nathaniel there, confused expression and all, and slipped into the dark of the night to head eastward.


	62. Lasting Impressions

Cold. Dank. Damp. Dark. Her entire life had been spent here. Birth, childhood, adulthood … and all that came in between. Most of the memories from this place were far from pleasant. The majority of them centered around her father and his unrealistic beliefs and desires of his own distorted ideas of how things should be. The grudges he had held inside for so long making him so hateful and hurtful to others and resentful to the entire world around him in general, had begun here, boiling furiously over the years into such a fetid and festering wound that she found it a wonder he had not lost his sanity from it. His ever increasing need to always gain more. More lands. More titles. More prestige. More everything. Certainly more than what he had, and most definitely more than what he had a right too.

But survive he had, though she knew there were many out there, herself now included in the growing number, that believed he had indeed lost his sanity because of it. To go against a long-standing friendship, killing innocents and friends along the way simply in the name of  _want_. It did not make sense to her and she sincerely hoped it never would. If there was one thing she was learning out of all of this, it was that she was eternally thankful that she seemed to favor her mother's side of the family. Though little comfort (her mother's side was not much better in some ways), it was something at least.

Moving through the keep, the only sound the soft rustling of her skirts and soft-soled steps against the stone beneath her, Delilah sought solace of some sort. Her steps were light and quick as she moved along, seeking the steps to the rooftop and battlements above. It was as good a place as any to find peace and quiet, time alone with her thoughts.

Since that day in the basement, she had not physically returned, though her thoughts often did. She could not help but wonder at the fates of Rory Gilmore or Mother Mollol. Varel had assured her as he escorted her back to safety that all that could be done had been done. What exactly that meant, she did not know, nor was she certain she wanted to, and so she left it to Fate to determine. The one positive thing she could pull from it was that Varel had always been an honest man with her before. The man said what he thought, what he meant, and he did not mince words about it either. It was this characteristic that had driven Rendon Howe to dismiss him as Seneschal after questioning the Arl's choices one too many times. She could trust Varel, that much she knew, and it was something she was coming to rely upon increasingly.

She found the access to the battlements then and began climbing, her thoughts needing the open air and space to break free around her, from her, and away from her. Thank the Maker, her father was now gone from this place! Now that he added the title of Arl of Denerim to his long list of entitlements, he hardly saw fit to stay in communication - either written or physical - with those who remained at Vigil's Keep. Oh, he had left his most trusted offspring (Delilah could not hold back a snort of derision at that thought) in charge, having had Thomas declared Arl of Amaranthine in his stead just as he had always wanted. But everyone knew it was really the elder who retained the real power behind the title. Spending his days lost in his cups, barely coherent and certainly less than observant to the conditions surrounding him, Thomas was simply biding his time.

Delilah burst through the doorway then, gasping in fresh air in huge draughts as if to clear her mind, body and soul of everything that seemed to be smothering her. She walked over to the edge of the battlements, staring down below at the few men who bothered to train in the main courtyard. She knew these men to be the bottom of the barrel, so to speak. The majority of her father's men were stationed at Highever and attempting to keep order there. Delilah felt her heart squeeze tight at that thought. Since her father would not, she carried the guilt for what had happened there. For the death of friends, even family.

As for the rest of the men, her father had taken his best and most trusted with him to Denerim. What good were soldiers if you could not trust that they would not betray you or stab you in the back the moment that opportunity presented itself? The men who remained at Amaranthine were loyal to the name Howe, yet when it came down to brass tacks, Delilah knew that it was merely lip service. Thomas had not earned their respect, nor did he deserve it. Too lost in his inebriation, Rendon's son never seemed to realize the fine line he walked there. Life at the Keep continued somewhat near normal only thanks to Varel, not quite Seneschal once again yet the only man at the Keep to whom the men, the staff and the family all turned to and relied upon. It was he who held it all together here.

Sighing, Delilah leaned against the wall of stone and stared off into the distance. Why had her father had to do this? His actions were abhorrent … and solely his own. She had been into the city of Amaranthine once or twice since the fall of Highever, had come into contact with many of the population who lived there. Most said nothing of what had happened, content to remain silent, afraid of retribution, Delilah was certain. It was a logical fear, she knew. And, depending on what was said or who said it, Delilah knew retaliation could come from one of several quarters. Her father or Bann Esmerelle being the most likely of the list. But beneath all of that, if one found the right places to listen, the real rumblings could be heard. And it was from those quiet disgruntled comments that Delilah found out just how the common folk of Amaranthine felt about her father … and by association, her entire family. Outside of Amaranthine, she was certain she could expect this sort of thing, but from within?

The sound of approaching footsteps behind her had Delilah spinning around, her hand rising to her throat in surprise. No one ever …. "Varel!" she gasped in relief, her fright easing itself into something less heart pounding.

"My pardons for frightening you, my lady," he apologized as he stepped closer.

Delilah waved his words away. "Never mind," she told him. "My silliness, I suppose. I assume you were looking for me?"

Varel nodded, and it was with sudden realization that Delilah noticed his once black hair was now nearly all grey.  _We have done this to him_ , she thought.  _Father mostly, but we are all responsible._ "Yes, my lady. The healer, Ceila, has sent me to fetch you."

Concern rose immediately and Delilah lifted her eyes to meet his. "Mother?"

"I am afraid so."

Moving quickly, Delilah turned to return inside the keep. "Tell me," she pleaded as they walked along, heading towards the back of the keep where her mother's sick room was located. Her mother had taken ill shortly after the fall of Highever and with the news that Nathaniel had been killed in the attacks. Since that time, either by choice or by request, she had been bedridden. Ceila had been tending to her every day since, and often could be found there even when her relief had arrived. Thomas refused to visit. Delilah found it a place to where she could escape when things were becoming too oppressive … or if she just needed a moment away from daily life. It wasn't that she was extraordinarily close with her mother, but the two women had become if not somewhat closer, certainly an understanding had been reached since the elder had taken ill.

And so Varel gave Delilah an update as they hurried through the dimly lit corridors of the keep. They were nearing their destination when Varel pulled Delilah to the side and murmured, "My lady, I find myself in a bit of an awkward position here."

Confused, Delilah remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

"Your mother has asked me to express to you the need for you to leave here."

"Leave?" she echoed.

Varel nodded. "She begged me to urge you to get out from beneath your father's control, to find a life of your own." The man sighed heavily. "I have to admit, I do agree with her ladyship on this."

Delilah felt quick tears form behind her eyes then. Reaching out, she patted his arm gently and murmured, "I know you do. Whether you've said it aloud or not, I could sense it for a while now. Ever since that day …."

Varel nodded, understanding immediately the day to which she referred. "I beg you, my lady," he told her. "Leave. Ceila, too. With your mother gone, I suspect your father will try using you as a pawn of some sort. If that were to happen, I would not be in a position to protect you."

Turning towards the door to her mother's room, Delilah offered the man a smile. "I will consider it," she returned quietly and then entered the room.

The room was dimly lit, even the fire in the hearth was burning low at this point, and Delilah had to struggle to see through the gloom. To her right, sitting beside her mother's bed, she finally spotted the mage. Ceila glanced up then, her amber eyes meeting Delilah's blue and gave a soft shake of her head. It was then, in the silence around them that Delilah heard the raspy gasps for breath that her mother struggled with. Time was short.

Delilah took a few steps more inside and soon seated herself on the edge of her mother's bed, opposite from Ceila. "I am here mother. Varel found me." She watched, her heart aching, as her mother struggled to turn her head to look at her. Leaning forward, Delilah reached out for her mother's hand and tightened her own around it. "It's alright," she promised quietly. "He told me."

"Go," the older Howe breathed, her voice broken, raspy and rattling from illness. "Promise." And then, her mother reached out for Ceila's hand as well, pulling the mage's hand to cover Delilah's, and then covering both with her own. "Go."

It was the last thing Delilah heard her mother say as she gave in to the illness that had been claiming her, slowly but surely, for so many months. When finally her body did give out, Delilah rose to her feet and stood there, alone, for a long moment.

"Ceila?"

The mage moved to stand beside her, murmuring softly, "I am ready."

Delilah nodded and turned towards the door. "Meet me in my rooms in a half hour," she instructed. "We will be gone before anyone notices." Silently, the mage nodded and departed. Before Delilah could leave, Varel entered. He paused for a moment, giving his mistress a moment of silence, before turning towards the daughter. "I heard what you told Ceila, my lady, and I will see to it that you are not discovered," he promised. "Now, go. Get what things you can. You will find a blade and a bow in your room as well. Take them. Learn how to defend yourself."

Delilah stepped over and gave the man an affectionate hug. "Thank you, Varel," she murmured before departing, leaving her past behind her.

* * *

Thanks in part to knowing some of the secret passages in the Keep, but also having a promise by Varel, Delilah and Ceila were able to exit the Keep without anyone being the wiser. The passage Delilah had chosen led them out the southeastern corner of the castle, an exit far enough from the main part of the keep to give them additional protection from those who might have seen. Partially hidden by the side of a hill and the trees and brush in the area surrounding it, Delilah and Ceila were able to get away cleanly, slipping into the cover of the trees and heading south and east. Delilah had an idea of where she wanted to go, based off of memories from years past spent traversing the area with Nathaniel.

"How far?"

Ceila's words were quiet as they walked along, keeping to the trees as much as possible. "Not too far," Delilah promised. She had a particular place in mind. A small hunting hut tucked away in the overgrown and far backwood area of the Wending Wood. A place that Nathaniel had showed her once when he had convinced her to go along with him while he had hunted and then made certain she knew how to find it on her own. A place he had told her to which she could run if ever she needed to be free from the Keep, the reason didn't matter.

And so she now fled.

It took longer than she expected, but she figured that was simply because it had been later in the day that they had left the Keep. They made good time, arriving with enough light, even in the dense forest, to scrounge up enough firewood to last through the night. Ceila had raided the kitchens before meeting Delilah, and so they had food to get them through one day, perhaps two if they were careful. The hut itself was tiny, with barely enough room for a small hearth, a table and a bed; but it was enough. And both women noted almost immediately that it had been kept up well enough over the years. From the smell, the mattress had been stuffed fairly recently, though the dust on the table suggested that it had been several weeks at the very least. Still, all in all, it was something to start with and better than nothing.

The first night was spent in a complete and utter exhaustive state. No dreams, no nothing. When Delilah woke with the sunlight creeping in the tiny window the next morning, she found she could barely believe that the night had already passed them by. She and Ceila began the day by evaluating the hut again (daylight certainly made a difference!) and then making an agreed upon list of priorities on which the two women worked together. Survival would require that they both knew what to do, and there was no better time to learn than the present.

Days passed. Then weeks. At first, it was a bit difficult, trying to figure out how to do things they were either used to someone else doing for the, or that they simply had no idea how it was done, or hadn't the skills in which to accomplish said task. There were failures aplenty (including occasionally going hungry when the traps weren't set right or a makeshift fishing net had a hole in it from knots not being tied properly), often leaving the women befuddled and bemused, but often looking for the humor in the situation as a way of making it through. Delilah still could find a giggle when thinking of the incident with the fishing net, remembering the look of utter dismay on Ceila's water-drenched features. Though to be quite fair, Delilah was certain she had looked like a drowned rat herself.

Along with those failures came an increasing number of victories. Delilah's first successful attempts at hitting a target that she was aiming for with the bow and arrows Varel had left her and having the point stick thanks to enough force behind the shot had filled her with more thrills than anything thus far. While she might not be as skilled with the weapon as her brother or even Bryallyn, and a target did not fill a hungry belly at night, it was a start and she found great joy in that.

On a daily basis, both women were well aware of one of the true dangers that they now faced being free of the Keep. Finding themselves away from what protections the Arl's name could provide meant that Ceila was considered an apostate. Ceila had no Chantry-approved Templar guarddog. But despite this ever present threat (and it was not one they took lightly), the mage would upon occasion entertain her mistress with tiny acts of magic, if only in an attempt to keep Delilah's spirits high. The one trick that had delighted Delilah the most for some reason had been the day that Ceila had shot the smallest of fireballs from one side of the clearing in front of their home to the other as she attempted (successfully) to light the fire beneath the large kettle hanging over it. Why this action had tickled so much, Delilah had no idea, but the fact that it did also emphasized something else to the young noblewoman. She and Ceila had their freedom … and it was time to do something with it.

That night, as they ate their supper together, Delilah tried to find a way to explain this to the mage. Ceila, for her part, nodded knowingly. At the end of the meal, she reached out to pat Delilah's hand, murmuring, "You are your mother's daughter, my lady." Delilah had heard Ceila say that before over the years, and had come to accept that as simply the mage's way of stating that she was nothing like her father. That was more than enough reinforcement for Delilah.

A few days after this discussion, as Delilah stood over a bubbling kettle in which she was doing laundry, she glanced up after suddenly feeling as if someone were watching her. Ceila was off gathering the plants and herbs she needed for her potions at the time. At first, Delilah thought perhaps she was imagining things, being just a bit too paranoid, and so she tried to push the feeling away and get back to the work before her. But later, as she lay the clothing out across the bushes to dry, she felt the sensation again. The hairs on the back of her neck bristling just a bit. Frowning, she kept her actions as normal as possible and moved towards the door to the hut, stepping inside briefly and returning with her bow.

But where she had expected to find templars or bandits, or at the very least, some of her father's men who had tracked her and Ceila down, Delilah instead found herself facing a young couple not much older than herself. At first, she thought it to be only the two of them, but upon closer inspection, she found the woman holding an infant to her shoulder, just barely visible beneath the threadbare cloak she wore. "M'lady," the young man's voice wobbled just slightly, "have you any food to spare?"

As Delilah stood there, the man explained that the food was for his wife, so that she might be able to nurse and feed their son, just barely two months old. After a long moment of indecision, Delilah brought them forward, into the hut and settled them at the table. As she brought forth some of the meager supplies that she and Ceila had and shared them without comment, she found herself asking instead why, with a newborn child, they were out wandering the woods as they were. The nearest settlement was days away. It was then, as he explained, that Delilah began to realize just how bad things were becoming out in the rest of the world around her.

It appeared that in a desperate attempt to rebuild the royal armies after the losses at Ostagar, the Regent had ordered levies on troops. Gangs were now going around the bannorn, searching for any and all able bodied men and even older teens and in the process were ignoring their state of servitude. Free men even were being forced into conscription into the army. The man, Galen, his wife and child were all from one of the bannorns south of Amaranthine, having fled north when the gangs sought to force him to join. A relative had alerted them to the impending arrival of one of the gangs, and they had fled only with what they had on their backs. Since starting their journey, he explained, they had come upon many others in similar straits. It had only been by sheer luck they had ended up in the Wending Woods and at her doorstep.

During his story, Ceila returned. There had been a brief moment of panic by Galen and his wife, first at the thought that they had been found out and would be taken, and then after as the older woman asked to examine the child and his mother, just to be certain all was well with them. Delilah reassured them, vouching for Ceila and while the mage examined her patients, the young noblewoman stepped outside and spoke more with Galen. After a short time, she made yet another decision and suggested that he and his family remain in the forest with her and Ceila. They could all build a small lean-to nearby, something similar to Delilah's, and if he was willing, Galen could assist Delilah with hunting, fishing and other chores around the place. They would help each other out, hiding out in the forest and keeping out of reach of their oppressors.

Galen and his family were but the first to join Delilah and Ceila over the following weeks. Whether word had gotten out and traveled, or people simply sought to survive on their own in any manner that they could, more and more were finding their way into the Wending Woods. And Delilah found ways to help them all. By the time the first hint of cold weather was approaching, Delilah found herself with no less than twenty individuals, most of whom were adults, living in the forest with her. Included among these, to her surprise, were a few Dalish as well. Separated from their clan when injured during a bear attack, they were taken in without question and nursed back to health. In return, and despite innate fears and hatred of humans, the two warriors and one healer remained to assist.

Word got out among her new 'family' about her past and her connection to the current troubles in their lands, but they were surprisingly calm about it. In the end, Delilah came to realize that it was one of the ways in which they could pay her back for her kindness towards them. Trust was a two way path, and she had trusted them. Until or unless given reason to think otherwise, they would trust her. It was this open and willing acceptance that helped Delilah heal then, moving beyond her past and the memories of a father who cared naught but for himself. And, as Ceila had cause to remind her upon occasion, how better to pay tribute to those who had loved her - her mother, Nathaniel, even Bryallyn - than to become who she was meant to be.

"I doubt my brother or Bryallyn would think much of my skills with a bow," Delilah commented one evening beside the fire as she sat mending a pair of breeches while the mage worked with her herbs.

"You sell yourself and your abilities short there, " Ceila replied. "Your brother and his wife both had years to learn what you have been managing in months. While your skills may not be as fine tuned as theirs, you are just as capable as they. I think you will figure that out for yourself once you go hunting with Galen and the others tomorrow too."

Delilah chuckled. "Yes, that should be most interesting," she replied in a dry tone. "I'm sure I'll be hearing Nathaniel's comments all throughout the hunt. 'No Del, it's like this,' or perhaps just that sigh of exasperation he used to do so well." Delilah glanced over at the mage who offered her a sympathetic look. There were times when she desperately wished her brother was around, to offer advice whether openly solicited or not, to annoy her like only he could. Or even just to simply have another family member about. The sadness that had taken hold since the loss of her brother, however, was at last beginning to lessen, though, making it easier for her to remember him without pain. And, while she might never be as skilled with her bow as her Nate, perhaps she could do - or maybe even was doing? - something to honor his memory. "You're right, Ceila," Delilah finally added, finishing up the mending and folding it away for the night. "Tomorrow will tell me all I need to know, I think."


	63. The Man In The Mask

The afternoon was beginning to wane, and to be honest they had been at this for some time after Bryallyn had called an early halt to the day's travels after a somewhat intriguing encounter with a merchant and a control rod. She claimed her decision had nothing to do with that meeting, and Alistair was inclined to believe her. He'd overheard Wynne telling Leliana that Bry was 'pushing too hard' on this journey, or something to that effect. Whether the bard had said or done anything to convince Bryallyn to stop early, Alistair didn't rightly know (they'd been at the back of the group while he had been up front), but either way, the early end to the day's travels had made everyone happy … at least, everyone except perhaps Sten. But, then again, Alistair still wasn't certain he could read the Qunari properly just yet. Maybe he was always this quiet and stoic and somewhat surly.

But they had stopped to make camp, and while everyone else worked on setting up tents and hunting for game and even making the fire, Leliana had coaxed Alistair off to work on their project. When Bryallyn had first requested the bard begin these 'lessons' (Alistair had his doubts as to whether they would actually work or not), the intent had been to help her fellow Warden to move beyond some of his natural concerns, shyness and naivete that often resulted with him turning beet red in embarrassment when anything even the slightest suggestive was said. And while he had argued that some of it was simply a matter of exposure (and promptly turned red when both Leliana and Bryallyn had started giggling) to such things, he found he could not argue that he had just proven their point that he needed to receive some more specialized training to help him cope. As they were quick to point out, all it took was Zevran looking over at him and smirking to get Alistair reacting.

Alistair had lost count how many the weeks and months this 'training' had been taking place. At times he thought he had finally gotten the hang of it, was finally able to mask his immediate feelings well enough that he could continue a discussion safely enough … and then Zevran or Morrigan, or even Leliana would toss just the slightest hint of suggestion - spoken or visual - and he would be right back where he had been before, face and neck flaming and not simply because of his proximity to the heat from the campfire.

So here they were, at it again in this clearing, and Alistair still found himself wondering why this was a good idea. Not that he minded being alone with Leliana. One benefit he could see from all of their time together was that their friendship was growing. The moments when she was honestly not teasing him were some of the nicest he had ever spent with a woman, he thought. That realization had come early on in the training sessions, but more and more of late, he found himself wondering if it wasn't something … more. Sure, he enjoyed her company. He certainly thought she was pretty, and her voice did funny things in his chest, he'd noted, by causing all sorts of fluttery sensations there. But it hadn't been until their departure from Lake Calenhad that he had realized what it most likely was. And  _that_  had probably done more to make him forget his lessons than anything.

And Leliana had been smart enough to see that something had happened, though he did not think that she had figured it out quite yet. Which had bought him a bit of time for which he was grateful. He spent much of that time in silent deliberation with himself over what he should do. There was a very good chance that if he confronted her with what he was feeling (or what he _thought_ he was feeling) that she would laugh in his face or turn him down flat. Truth be told, that did frighten him just a bit, though he knew it to be the most likely outcome. And now, as she continued to try to work with him, without the knowledge as to why he had reverted back to almost where he'd been at the beginning, he realized he would have to say something.

But, he had to give her credit for coming up with ingenious methods, he thought. Today's in particular seemed to be putting him on severe trial. If he had to listen to any more bawdy poetry ….

"This isn't working."

The interruption was enough to give Leliana pause mid-stride as she walked around him, the stanzas bouncing off her lips as she read it aloud to him. Turning to face him, she pressed her lips together and he saw them turn downward into a pout. Maker, but she certainly knew how to play him! "But you aren't even giving it a chance, Alistair!" she protested. "Now, let's try this again, shall we?"

A heavy and reluctant sigh echoed throughout the clearing then. Alistair leaned back against the boulder he had semi-officially declared as his seat for this 'performance' and crossed his arms over his chest. He watched her closely then, his eyes searching first her face and then down her neck and then even lower, almost as if looking for signs that ….

"Alistair!"

He jumped as she called his name scoldingly. "Hmmm? Ouch!" One hand flew immediately to the back of his head where Leliana had just smacked him to get his attention. "Whaaaaat?"

"You are supposed to be paying attention!"

It was that giggle, he decided as she went back to her recitations. That soft, lilting bubble of laughter of hers that so often had tempted him into this position to begin with. And suddenly, he understood all too clearly that he would have to tell her. He was prepared, perhaps instinctively knowing that it would come down to this, and had brought the small token with him today. It was there, tucked away in the pack he always carried when they went off on these little ventures. Wrapped up in a cloth, lying atop the last of the cheese he'd stashed away for a snack later, just waiting for the right moment.

A string of irritated Orlesian broke into his thoughts then and Alistair glanced beside him to find Leliana standing there, glowering, snapping the book shut practically right beneath his nose. "How are you to learn from this if you do not pay attention?" she demanded.

Mouth suddenly dry as he found those blue eyes staring into his own, almost as if looking deep into his soul …. He felt the blush that spread to his cheeks then. And another failure … to add to the list of so many. Sighing, he glanced away. "Sorry," he murmured in a dejected tone as he sought for some sort of guidance. He needed to tell her, but did he have the courage to do so? "I guess … I'm just a bit … distracted today."  _Lame excuse_ , he told himself.

Alistair looked back at her and saw her irritation shift into a frown of concern and he found himself wondering just what she was thinking. She took a stab at it though by asking softly, gently, "Are you thinking of Duncan, perhaps?"

Alistair blinked before turning his startled gaze fully towards her. "What? No!" he protested immediately. And then, more calmly, "No, it isn't that." Again he felt heat rushing up his neck towards his face. How was he to explain?

"Well, I will agree, you certainly do not seem to be yourself today," she admitted. "Is there something I can help with?"

Alistair's hand moved to the back of his neck, rubbing the skin there in a gesture he often used when trying to speak through his embarrassment. "No … I-I don't think so."  _Coward!_  Silently, he began calling himself all kinds of fool then.  _Tell her!_

And then, before he could do much else, he saw her step closer, her eyes boring up into his for a long moment. At first, he didn't understand, but when her eyes widened then, a soft gasp slipping past her lips, he realized she must have figured it out. How she did that, he wasn't quite sure. He wasn't even positive that she had come to the correct conclusion, but figured she must have come close, otherwise the look in her eyes would not be softening right in front of him and her hand would not be rising to touch his arm. "Alistair …."

The silence surrounded them then for a long moment, almost separating the pair from the rest of the world around them. Swallowing tightly past the sudden lump in his throat, he lowered the arm that had been at his neck, moving to rest his hand lightly against her hip. Whether that was to hold her in place, pull her closer or to push her away, he was not quite certain. "I … um …." She did not tease. She did not taunt. "Leliana …."

He turned slightly then, his one arm still around her waist, the other reaching towards his pack, thinking that now might be a good time to surprise her, but she halted his movements. "Alistair, no." Her words were soft, yet gentle at the same time, but very firm.

"But … there's something I want to give -"

"No." She remained insistent. Several moments of awkward silence passed, Alistair searching her face to try to find the answer to  _why_  she would not let him take the pack in hand. "I know what you carry in there," she finally admitted, her tone still soft.

"You-you do?" He was stunned. He had thought he had been quite alone when he'd rescued the rose from Lothering. That it had survived at all still remained a mystery to him. And then when he'd wrapped it up and put it in his pack that night … she had been on watch then, hadn't she?

Leliana lifted her hands then, framing his face, silently asking him to look at her. As he did, he heard her murmur, "Alistair, you do realize that you will likely end up as king, do you not?"

Alistair sighed heavily. Though it had not been discussed much, and certainly not with anyone other than Bryallyn, Alistair was not surprised that Leliana knew about his parentage, or at least that he was in line for the throne. "I know that," he returned quietly, though the thought made his stomach churn with nerves.

Her hands still cradling his face, she continued, "Then anything between us would be ill advised, would it not? We would have no future together."

A reluctant sigh. A king taking up with an Orlesian bard? "You're probably right," he agreed. "It's just that …." He reached for the pack again, but she would not let him take it in hand.

"Save it, Alistair. For your future queen," she told him sincerely. "Trust me, it will be important to her."

Alistair frowned then, lifting his hands to encircle her wrists. "And what if I want -"

Leaning forward, Leliana kissed him lightly on his lips, a move that only a short while before might have had him skittering away from her like a frightened puppy. "Alistair, I know you, your type. You are not one to simply sleep with whomever tickles your fancy and then move on. You are a man of strong beliefs and feelings. It would be heartless of me to lead you on into a situation that I knew would never become permanent.  _You know we cannot be_. Like the Blight, our time together will come to an end."

He felt a sharp pain in his chest then that replaced the earlier flutters and nerves. And though he knew her words to be true, he still did not want to admit that she was right. He loosed his grasp upon her wrists, his hands falling to his sides in defeat. She had turned him down … as he had known she would, but somehow it seemed to hurt worse with the foreknowledge.

And then she she moved quickly and caught his hands before they landed. The movement had him looking at her in question, hope beginning to build once more.

"But, until then …."

His eyes met hers and saw the sparkle of playful mischief there. A slight twitch at the corner of her lips also teased. "Leli …?"

Her arms shifted, wrapping up and around his shoulders, hands teasing the hair just above his neckline. "If you can promise to abide by this this later on," she murmured, her voice sounding an awful lot like a cat's purr near his ear, "to walk away without question or disagreement when the time comes, perhaps  _these_  are the lessons on which we should be concentrating, hmm?"

Alistair found himself speechless just then … and when one of Leliana's hands trailed down his arm to take his hand in hers, tugging just enough to get him to follow after her, he felt a smile turn at his lips and he followed.

* * *

It was sometime much later that afternoon Leliana and Alistair returned to their original purpose in the clearing. This time, however, the bard gave up the recitation of poetry in favor of her first love, music. Grabbing her lute, she climbed onto the boulder and settled there, strumming simple chords as she tuned the instrument. Once satisfied, and with just a little bit of added flair, she began playing a procession of chords. At first, they did not seem to have a particular melodic pattern, but she knew better than most how to play a deception. She began humming softly along with the chords, a light and easy melody meant to relax and entertain.

Periodically, Leliana would sneak a glance out of the corner of her eye over at Alistair, a small and somewhat secret smile playing across her lips. She had to admit, if only to herself (though she might give in for a 'girl talk' session if Bry were insistent upon it) that she had enjoyed her time with Ferelden's future king. He had been hesitant, nervous, and not a little bit awkward at first. But he had been a quick learner, and it had not taken him long to learn just enough that he too was enjoying himself and then some.

Right now, however, he was back to his old ways whenever their gazes met. It seemed that perhaps she still had some lessons to impart. Hmm, she would have to do something about that. "Alistair, it's a little chilly here, don't you think? Would you be a dear and start up a small fire?"

He seemed almost shocked at first and it was all Leliana could do to not begin laughing at his reaction. However, the gentleman that he inherently was beneath all of his Templar and Warden training did shine through and while he began gathering the wood they would need, even flexing some of his impressive muscular strength in the process (to Leliana's everlasting delight), the bard turned her attentions back to her music.

A short time later, Alistair moved to lean against the boulder near her, his elbow resting on the flat surface as he leaned in a bit to watch her. "Better?"

Leliana flashed him a warm smile. "Indeed," she replied softly. She knew she was leading him in, just waiting for him to relax enough, to take the bait so to speak. It was all a part of who she was, acting like this. The trick, she thought, would be to see if he figured it out for himself. Most of the times that Alistair ended up in an embarrassing situation (to his own point of view) she knew had more to do with his inexperience and walking right in where others had led him. She had been trying for weeks now to get him to realize this.

He took a chance then, she noticed with a bit of satisfaction warming in the pit of her stomach, and he reached out to run his hand lightly along her lower leg. The sensations were rather pleasant, she thought, and she also realized that this would be the perfect time put him to the test … when his focus was elsewhere and he was least expecting it. That in mind, a smile still playing at her lips just for him, she altered the chords and her tune just a bit and moved into the flow of the song.

_If all the young laddies were little white flowers,_

_I'd be a bee a suck them for hours_ …

_Go roll your leg over, roll your leg over_

_Roll your leg over the man in the moon._

Leliana had to giggle softly at the stunned look of surprise that crossed Alistair's face just then. His eyes shot up to meet hers, his breath caught, and he almost gurgled as he tried to find his voice to protest. And was that the barest hint of a flush creeping up his neck just then? Oh, she would  _definitely_  need to have a chat with Bryallyn about this if only for the amusement of it all!

_If all the young laddies were ships on the sea,_

_I'd be the waves and I'd let them ride me_

_Go roll your leg over, roll your leg over_

_Roll your leg over the man in the moon_.

_If all the young laddies were boards on the floor_

_I'd lay meself down and make them creak more_

_Go roll your leg over, roll your leg over_

_Roll your leg over the man in the moon._

_If all the young laddies were hounds on a spree_

_I'd be the fox and I'd let them chase me_

_Go roll your leg over, roll your leg over_

_Roll your leg over the man in the moon._

_If all the young laddies were bricks in a pile,_

_I'd be the mason and lay them with style_

_Go roll your leg over, roll your leg over_

_Roll your leg over the man in the moon._

_If all the young laddies were bakers of pie_

_I'd be the bread yeast and make them all rise_

_Go roll your leg over, roll your leg over_

_Roll your leg over the man in the moon._

_If all the young laddies were big as they say_

_Then nary a lass would be walkin' this day!_

_Go roll your leg over, roll your leg over_

_Roll your leg over the man in the moon._

But by the end of several verses, Leliana found it becoming increasingly difficult to keep her attention to what she was doing. And Alistair? The man was just standing there, watching her closely, his arms crossed and …. Startled, she tried to stammer out his name in protest.  _She_  was supposed to be testing  _him_ , to make certain that the skills she had been teaching him to keep him from reacting to suggestive comments were actually sinking in, and yet ….

She looked up at him as he stood there, one of his lopsided grins tilting at his lips.  _Those lips …_. Leliana found it difficult to swallow past the lump in her throat just then.  _What is he doing to me?_ He leaned closer then, nuzzling the hair near her cheek just a bit with his nose before whispering, "So … do I pass yet?"

Leliana pulled back as suddenly as if Morrigan had zapped her with a bolt of lightning. "What? When? How?" she stumbled. When he began chuckling, she became even more confused for a very long moment … and then he reached a hand out to her. Reacting on instinct, she placed her hand in his and he pulled her to stand before him before taking the lute from her and setting it upon the boulder.

"A little distracted, are we?" he mused.

And then it hit her. "You … you …!"

He laughed a bit more loudly this time. When she began smacking his arm in her frustration, he hunched in a bit as if to protect himself. "What? Isn't this what you  _wanted_  me to do?"

"Well, yes," she returned in aggravated protest, "but … how long have you -"

Alistair lifted a finger and placed it on her lips then and Leliana shut her mouth. "Why don't we just say that I was recently inspired and leave it at that? Hmm?" he offered.

Blinking and realizing that Leliana could hardly protest that, she simply nodded. He leaned in to kiss her thoroughly on her lips for a moment then before pulling back. "Now then, shall we return to camp before they begin to wonder what exactly it is we have been up to?" he asked.

Leliana sighed and reached for her lute. "Wanting to show off now, are we?" she teased lightly as they walked along. She heard him chuckling as he walked beside her.

"Perhaps … a bit," he returned. "On the other hand, I was thinking that after supper we might simply, ahem … work on some more of those lessons?"

Laughing aloud, Leliana looped her arm through his as they walked along. "We might at that," she agreed.


	64. Trial By Faith

Bryallyn had not been surprised upon their arrival at Haven to find that they were being turned away. However, with a few carefully worded responses to the man's demands that they leave, they were finally allowed admittance and directed to the shop where they could trade.

Barely had they entered the village proper, however, than Bryallyn found herself face to face with dissention from within her own ranks. Sten had stepped before her, daring to challenge her in front of the others. Sadly, though Bryallyn wished she could say she found this as a surprise, she could not. The stoic warrior had been growing even less talkative than usual, his manner more surly, bordering even on disrespectful. That he would seek to challenge her was not surprising in the least. When she gave it further thought, the fact that he would do it in front of the others was not that startling either. Though she knew very little of the Qunari, from the bit she did understand, Bryallyn understood them to be a people with a definitive view of proper place in society and a certain order to things. The fact that she was a woman and in the position of leader she knew gave Sten fits.

When the challenge came, Bryallyn was ready for it. Though Alistair and Leliana both stepped forward immediately, Bry stopped them, her hands moving out to block their challenge to Sten. When Constant began growling in a manner that Bryallyn recognized as his "I will attack you if you take one step further," warning, she silenced him as well. Even Wynne started to speak up and Bryallyn had to warn her off as well. Cautiously, Bryallyn allowed Sten to air his grievances. Each time he posed a question, she answered it. Every time he baited her, trying to get her to react in a manner she knew to be aggressive, she faced him calmly and refuted his claims with words rather than blades or bows. In truth, she knew full well that she would not be able to stand up to a physical challenge to him not only because of her pregnancy, but also because her blade skills were not nearly at his level. That realization had come some months before, and was something that still gave her a twinge or two when she thought of it. Nathaniel had insisted she learn to wield dual blades to protect herself, had even offered to teach her all he knew … and they had never had the chance.

In the end, the Qunari held his blade and fell back into line, never knowing the internal struggle that Bryallyn had faced in the process. Thanks largely in part to her bard lessons from Leliana, Bry had been able to keep her emotions masked from him and the others at the time. Like most of the situations she found herself in since the night Highever had fallen, Bryallyn tended to compartmentalize: push her feelings to the side to deal with later while actively seeking something else to do to keep her mind occupied away from them. In this instance, she began leading her companions through the village of Haven.

And Maker, was there ever enough distraction to keep her occupied … and provide her with a new set of worries. As they moved through the village, Bryallyn was ever mindful of the stories told her regarding the cold reception her parents had received so many years before. Yet, whether due to Leliana's teachings or simply Bryallyn's own suspecting nature now enhanced since the betrayal of Rendon Howe, Bryallyn found that she could not help but sense that whatever was happening here had something sinister at its base. Even Morrigan's observations seemed to back this up, and it was rare that Bry and the mage agreed on anything.

As they prepared to enter the chantry, so clearly the heart of the village given its prominence at the top of the hill, Bryallyn felt a hand at her shoulder. Glancing over, she found both Alistair and Leliana giving her a look of concern. "What is it?" Bry asked.

A look passed between the would-be-king and the bard. "Alistair and I were thinking," Leliana began quietly, "that perhaps you ought to let him lead the way in here."

Bryallyn shifted her glance to Alistair as he added, "Bry, neither of us doubts your abilities," he assured her quickly and Bryallyn nodded to let him know she had not been thinking that at all, "but we also know that, given what we've discovered so far, this  _could_  be a dangerous place."

"What they are trying to be so delicate in saying, my dear Warden," Zevran's accented voice piped up from her other side as he too stepped forward, "is that they want you and your child to remain safe. Surely it has occurred to you that the farther along you are in your current … condition, the more danger you are likely to be in, no?"

Bryallyn was brought up a bit short by the elf's words. Certainly she had realized that a time would come when the risk of doing her child some sort of harm would outweigh the need for her to lead in battle, but she wasn't even halfway through her pregnancy yet. "I …."

Leliana took her hand then and squeezed gently. "How about a test run for our 'new and improved' Alistair, hmm?" she suggested with a touch of a smile and Bryallyn found that she could not deny either Alistair or Leliana that. She and Leliana had chatted a few times recently and when the bard was not busy blushing, she had been extolling the personality changes that had taken over the other Warden. It was time for him to try.

Bryallyn finally gave in, noting as she did so that the look that crossed Alistair's features seemed to be almost a combination of excitement and fear. Their eyes met and held for a moment, and Bryallyn gave him a smile of reassurance and a small nod of agreement that he was ready, that she trusted him, and that she was willing to hand over the leadership role on this particular mission. "Lead on," she told him simply. And he did.

In the long run, Bryallyn decided it was probably better that Alistair led inside the Chantry than she. The man leading the 'services,' if they could be referred to as such a thing, turned out to be the Revered Father that her parents had mentioned to her and which, deep inside her, rankled just a bit too much that a man whose intent seemed to stem from so evil a purpose (and still as of yet undefined) could live longer than her parents. Bryallyn remained in the rear of the group with Wynne and Morrigan as she often did, the distance necessary for use of her weapon. This also gave her the opportunity to watch Alistair in action. And despite the personal issues she was suffering through, the sight of her friend and fellow Warden coming into his own, even on a small level such as this, was quite the sight. She could see little signs of the ruler he could become as he handled the situation the Revered Father. At least there was something hopeful that could be brought out of this bizarre situation.

The Revered Father not having changed much from the time when her parents had visited, it seemed, chose battle rather than cooperation. When the dust of battle cleared, Bryallyn and her party were all that remained. Bryallyn made sure she found a moment to let Alistair know how well he had done. The moment was cut short, however, with Zevran approaching once more. "Wardens, I believe I may have found a secret passage."

And so he had. On the other side of the wall in the hidden room, the party finally came across the elusive Brother Genitivi. After some discussion in which the good, but stubborn Brother refused to seek out additional medical assistance back in Denerim, even at Wynne's insistence, he agreed to remain behind the group if they would at least let him show them where the temple that housed the Urn of Sacred Ashes was located. No manner of suggestion otherwise would work with him, and so Bryallyn and Alistair finally agreed to allow him to accompany them as far as the entrance to the temple. Once he showed them how Father Eirik's medallion opened the door, he agreed to remain behind to study the ruins located there, finally admitting openly that if he went with them he would only slow them down.

As they ventured forth through the temple, Bryallyn became more and more concerned regarding the fanaticism they were facing. She spent much time speaking with Leliana on this too, regarding the bard's time spent in the Chantry as a good counterpoint to what was quite clearly turning into a counter-branch of the faith. Though not as devout and Andrastrian as she supposed she ought to be, Bryallyn did believe to a point, and she was finding the extremist nature of these people to be quite disturbing. That fact plus the enclosed nature of the 'temple' was truly wearing on her, and by the time they had fought their way to the exit, Bryallyn was near complete exhaustion. When faced yet again with a group of cultists, this time led by another man claiming to be priest, Bryallyn nearly ended up in tears.

Realizing that it was more than just the nature of their quest that was affecting Bryallyn, Wynne pulled Bryallyn aside as they entered the large chamber. "Child," she murmured calmly and in what she hoped was a soothing manner, "I suspect this is another of those moments you should allow both Alistair and Leliana to approach. Both are versed well enough in the Chantry's teachings they should not be swayed by anything these people have to say."

Bryallyn's eyes glanced up as another presence joined them. Meeting Alistair's concerned look, she nodded. "Will you?" she asked quietly.

Alistair smiled and patted her shoulder gently. "You know I will," he said quietly before turning to gather Leliana, Zevran, Sten and Morrigan to his side. Constant remained beside his mistress and Wynne.

The talk began well, and due to the large cavernous surroundings, Bryallyn and Wynne were able to hear the conversation clearly as it echoed around them. A time or two, Bryallyn did find herself wincing at Alistair's responses, though with the battle that ultimately followed, she knew there was little other predictable outcome. Thankfully, the battle was not lengthy and most injuries received were minor. Except for Sten. The Qunari had taken a direct hit to his main arm from a mage's spell and after the battle was ended, both Bryallyn and Wynne who had seen him take the hit, hurried over. The man began cursing up a storm in what Bryallyn assumed was Qunari (she certainly didn't recognize the language) as Wynne began treatment. But the wound proved to be stubborn. Morrigan soon joined them and was adding her two coppers worth, until finally she told them, "Go. I believe I know what spell caused this. 'Tis one of older magic, one that mother knew how to mend."

Bryallyn blinked. Older magic. One Flemeth knew. Bryallyn wondered if that meant it was something out of the grimoire she had given to Morrigan after the trip to the Circle Tower, but she did not wish to speak of the tome in front of Wynne who would, no doubt, be upset by the fact that Bryallyn had taken it. Instead, Bryallyn handed Morrigan two health potions, a couple of empty flasks and some lyrium dust she had been carrying. "We will pick you up on the return," she promised.

The two women exchanged a look, and Bryallyn was almost startled by the smile that Morrigan offered her then. "We shall be ready to travel then," she promised and then by way of dismissing Bryallyn, the witch turned her attention to her patient.

It had become clear during the confrontation with Kolgrim that the group inhabiting Haven believed that Andraste had been reborn as a dragon, but until Bryallyn and the others actually stepped outside of the temple and came nearly face to face with the high dragon that appeared to call the place home, they had not quite understood. Some quick thinking on Alistair's and Zevran's parts had kept the women (and themselves) safe as the creature soared overhead, it's roar reverberating across the mountains surrounding them, the ground quaking beneath their feet. Bryallyn shuddered at the sound, her hands moving to cover her child as if the action might actually protect it. Alistair had pulled her and Leliana aside while Zevran assisted Wynne, halting their momentum forward to keep them out of line of sight of the beast. Once the dragon settled upon a rise across the open space before them, appearing to settle down for a rest, Bryallyn peeked around Alistair's shoulder so that she could get a better look at the thing.

"I would humbly suggest," Zevran offered quietly, his own voice not un-affected by the animal's presence, "that we find a way  _around_  the dragon. I do not know about you, but I have no wish to be on her menu for this evening."

The others murmured their quick agreement and it was decided to keep to the sides of the hills as much as possible, thus keeping them out of direct line of sight of the dragon. Though this took longer than they would have liked, their caution was rewarded when they arrived at the entrance to the rest of the temple on the other side. Quickly, quietly, they moved inside of the building, closing the door firmly behind them.

Bryallyn was the first to sigh in relief, sagging against the nearby wall. "Maker's breath," she murmured, more shudders passing through her. A hand at her shoulder caught her attention and she glanced up to find Alistair, his concern for her obvious. "I'm fine," she told him. "Just …."

Alistair gave her a quick hug, brotherly hug. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he responded quietly. "Creepy."

Bryallyn managed a small chuckle then as she straightened. "Definitely creepy," she agreed. Glancing at the others, she asked, "Shall we move forward?"

With everyone in accordance, they entered what appeared to be an antechamber of some sort. But the room looked different than the rest, whether due to the architecture itself or the fact that it did not appear to be as aged by time as the rest of the temple had been was not certain. Bryallyn felt a nudge against her hip a moment later and glanced down at Constant, ever beside her, who appeared to be upset about something if his soft whine was any indication. She was about to ask the hound what the trouble was when a strange man in armor stepped forward seemingly out of nowhere. Before she could say a word to the contrary, Alistair and Zevran had their blades pulled and were beside her, Leliana her bow drawn and aimed; and Wynne, Maker bless her, stood behind Bryallyn, fingers crackling with energy should a spell be needed.

Taking a quick moment to gesture her companions to back off, Bryallyn then stepped forward and began conversing with the spectral image. He most definitely was not a human. Or, rather, she corrected herself, he was not a live human. They spoke for a time regarding the group's purpose, the Guardian's purpose, and what lay behind the doors he was now blocking them from entering. Once satisfied that any and all questions she had were thoroughly answered, Bryallyn then agreed to submit herself to the gauntlet, as he called it.

The gauntlet had four sections, he'd warned. Four tests of trust and faith that would verify she and her companions were worthy to approach the Ashes. With that in mind, Bryallyn led the way. The first test proved to be one of riddles and knowledge, wordplay and faith. However, through a bit of teamwork and group discussion, they managed to make it through without any untoward incident. Bryallyn actually found it to be an interesting experience, not so much because they had had to rely upon working together as a group, but more for the information that had come out of it. Where Bryallyn had figured that the questions regarding Andraste might be Leliana's area of expertise after her time in the Chantry, it had been Alistair's templar training that had provided much of the content of the answers. The riddles and wordplay had actually required more assistance from Leliana and Zevran in the end. All in all, Bryalllyn found herself pleased with the final results of this experience.

* * *

Rather pleased with himself for his contributions, Alistair was just leaning down to murmur an observation quietly to Leliana when he felt her arm shoot up, effectively causing him to come to a sudden halt. Frowning, he took a breath to ask what was wrong when he finally noticed that Bryallyn was some distance ahead of them, she too at a standstill. And she was speaking with someone. "Who -?"

Wynne's quiet tone broke in then. "That would be Teryn Bryce Cousland, Alistair. Bryallyn's father."

Alistair blinked back his confusion. "But … how?"

"It is one of the tests," Leliana's voice chimed in. "And one meant only for her."

Zevran scoffed lightly at the sight. "This is the best that the Guardian can do?" he asked.

Leliana frowned. "Hush, Zevran," she chided gently. "It is a test of faith. Of whether Bryallyn can move on from the past to pursue her future."

Bryallyn's voice echoed softly around them then, and in it they could hear her personal pain. "I wish it were not so, but I know you are dead, Father."

Bryce Cousland began speaking again, so quietly that none of the rest could hear him.

"She is so strong," Leliana mused from her position. "I know this must hurt her dreadfully, and yet she faces it head on."

Wynne chuckled softly. "She is a teyrn's daughter, Leliana," the mage reminded her. "Because we have known her as 'the Warden' for so long, we forget that she how she was raised."

Bryallyn's sobs reverberated towards them. "She isn't sounding so strong at the moment," Alistair observed with concern, attempting to step towards her.

Wynne reached out this time to stop him. "She needs to do this herself, Alistair."

Alistair felt an arm slide around his and glanced down at Leliana. "Wynne is right," she said. "We will have to wait to help her later. Knowing that we're there for her might do her better anyway."

Alistair sighed, but what choice did they have really?

"Our bard is correct, my friend," Zevran added. "So tonight we can distract our lady Warden -"

"Minus the alcohol, Zevran," Wynne ordered sternly.

Zevran sighed dramatically, but continued, "Yes, yes, my dear magically bosomed friend. Our blooming Bryallyn shall not be allowed to imbibe …." As he rambled on, Wynne snorting her protest at his 'magically bosomed friend' comment, Alistair kept his eyes upon his fellow Warden. She was reaching out, taking something in her hand from the spirit of her father, though how exactly that worked, Alistair could not even begin to imagine.

A moment later, Bryallyn was turning away from the spirit and her eyes lifted to meet Alistair's. They held for a moment and in that time, Alistair thought he could see so much. He recognized that look, too, and knew that if it had been him leading this, he would have been meeting with Duncan and the grief of his passing. "It's time to go," Alistair announced to the others then, stepping forward towards Bryallyn. Whatever came next, he would not let her go through it alone again, just as she had not let him do the same after Ostagar.

* * *

That evening, as the group made camp down in the now empty village of Haven, for the first time in a long while sleeping upon beds instead of the ground, Bryallyn found herself thinking back to the events of that afternoon. The remainder of the Gauntlet had been easy in comparison to the meeting with her father, Bryallyn thought. The Teyrn had not judged her in any way, simply advising her that it was time to let go of what had happened and move on. And though deep down inside Bry knew that he was right, she found herself fighting the loss of that connection with him.

But with every passing day, something happened to take her further away from that, and as much as Bryallyn wanted to deny it, she knew it was time to let go. As Leliana and Zevran made dinner that night (Bryallyn made a mental note to refrain from the elf's spicy rice. The last time she'd eaten it, she'd had heartburn all night long), Bryallyn slipped away and wandered down to the boat dock near the lake. It was a pretty place despite its association with the events that had transpired in this village over the years, and a place where she felt she could say her goodbyes in private.

A little while later as she sat upon the edge of the dock, Bryallyn was reflecting on some of the information she had received from her father's spirit that day when she sensed another's approach. A smile playing at her lips, she called out, "It's okay, Alistair. You don't have to stand back there in the dark."

Chuckling, he descended to the dock. "Leli asked me to fetch you for supper," he explained while extending a hand to assist her to her feet. Bryallyn took it, thankful for the help. "Are you alright?"

Bryallyn nodded though the sadness was still present in her eyes. "I will be," she told him. "Today just brought back some things I'd thought I'd already dealt with."

Alistair nodded his understanding. As she took his arm and they began walking back towards the camp, he asked, "So … what now? Do we head to Redcliffe to deliver the Ashes? Do we wait and go on to see the dwarves next? Find the Dalish? Forcibly escort Brother Genitivi home to Denerim? What's the plan?"

Bryallyn was silent for a moment as she considered their options. "As much as I hate to say it, I don't see that returning to Redcliffe does us much good, at the moment." She felt his step hesitate beside her and she suspected she knew his thoughts. Despite their past history together, it was clear that Alistair did care for the Arl. Glancing up at her friend, Bry smiled. "That does not mean we do not send the Ashes to him soon as possible."

Alistair blinked in confusion and Bryallyn almost laughed. "I am thinking to send Leliana down there while we start heading east to find the Dalish by way of Denerim."

"Denerim? So you intend to insist upon the good brother returning home?"

Bryallyn did chuckle this time. "Not at all. Genitivi is an adult, able to make his own decisions. Far be it from me to remove him from what he believes to be his calling. No, I have an altogether different plan for this stop in Denerim. Remember those drake scales we picked up in there?" She gestured towards the mountaintop that housed the temple. He nodded and she continued, "Well, I would think your Master Wade might be able to make some decent armor for someone out of it, don't you?" Despite the previous trip to the capital city, Bryallyn knew that both Zevran and Leliana still needed better armor than what they already had, and their adventures in Haven had not helped matters any in that regard. Leliana desperately needed new gloves and boots, and Zevran … well, as his Crow armor had been nearly destroyed during his ambush attempt upon Bryallyn, the pieces he currently wore consisted of a mixed assortment of pieces. Though the elf had not complained once that Bry knew of, she understood that he needed something that offered more protection.

"He might just at that," Alistair agreed. "So … Leli goes to drop the Ashes off with Teagan and then … meets up with us on the road somewhere?"

Bryallyn nodded. "I'll speak with her in more detail about it, get a feel for just how fast she thinks she will be able to travel, but I'm thinking somewhere just east of Lake Calenhad, in the Bannorn."

Alistair nodded. They were just arriving back at the main camp, dinner being served out to the companions as they did, and Wynne was waving them both over. "Hurry or your Warden appetites will have nothing to eat!" she warned.

"Go on," she told Alistair, "and grab me a plate. I'm going to talk to Leliana right now. You can sit with us as we plan it out." And as he wandered off and she turned towards the bard, Bryallyn felt normalcy, if it could be referred to as such, returning. They would be leaving Haven in the morning and with that departure, Bryallyn suspected much of the pain from her personal past would be left behind with it. She had to look to the future, and right now that future involved her companions and finding a way to end the Blight, no matter what the cost. At least, that was the plan.


	65. Caught

Departing from the docks the next morning, Nathaniel and his companions prepared to make their way north towards the Imperial Highway. The plan was to turn west at the juncture and then to head towards Orzammar in the hopes that they would meet up with Bryallyn and her companions in the process. But as they gathered their belongings together, paid their bills and prepared to leave the small hamlet (was it even large enough to be called that?), one thing became quite clear: Something more was going on in the Bannorn than just the Blight, and it was something that could end up affecting not just them, but every person in Ferelden.

They were just departing the  _Spoiled Princess_  when yet another group of refugees entered the area, seeking any sort of assistance they could possibly find. Though unable to offer assistance since they were departing, Nathaniel and the others did overhear some of the refugees talking of fighting, of bloodshed, of homes and fields and livestock destroyed. At first, Nathaniel assumed it was in reference to the encroaching darkspawn horde, believing these people to be from the south around Lothering. The darkspawn would be on the move northwards, though if they were this far already Nathaniel found himself wondering if the entire country would be overrun before anything could be done to halt them. But then, a passing comment caught his attention and had him thinking differently.

Nathaniel and Fergus were walking side by side, deep in discussion of some of the things they had spoken with Riordan the previous night. As they encountered the refugees, Nathaniel heard one woman complaining,  _"It's worse than him being called up by Bann Loren. That case at least he knows where his duty lies even if he doesn't agree with it. But this? This is forced conscription!"_

Nathaniel blinked and glanced at Fergus. As for himself, Fergus' eyes closed for just a moment and shook his head slightly. "He and father never did see eye to eye," Fergus muttered. "Always struck me as an arrogant arse, but there you have it. Mother and Lady Landra were good friends, however."

"Weren't they still at the castle when I left?" Nathaniel asked, his thoughts drifting back to those last days in Highever before the world began to fall apart.

Fergus nodded. "Mother was going to travel back to their estate with them after Father left for the south." He sighed heavily, but made no further comment. What was the point? Dwelling on the fact that the majority of his family was gone did nothing to bring them back, no matter how he might wish it to be otherwise.

Another spoke up then before Nathaniel could say anything to his friend, a man who appeared to be of conscription age who was nodding at the woman's words.  _"Regent's forcin' people to fight on 'is side in this thing. I'm not hangin' around to fight for the likes of 'im. Not when my lord's against 'im. 'E might be Regent, but 'e's not the one's got to work f'r my lord after!"_

A somewhat vocal 'discussion' began then regarding Ostagar, and the Regent's move to pull his troops from the battle … which inevitably led to raised voices regarding the death of the King. Nathaniel chanced a quick glance over at Fergus first before finding Trinion's gaze, but he didn't have to say a word to either of his companions. Each of them knew the import of the words being spoken here. Civil war was brewing in the Bannorn, and it would inevitably take a toll on the innocents as well as the nobles.

They would have to be very cautious in their travels from here out. No telling what might happen if they became embroiled in this particular battle. With press gangs out and about snatching up any and all able bodied persons for conscription, as well as more than just a few heavy suggestions of a contentious civil war, it would be imperative to keep their existence secret. Or as secret as possible. The temptation to use their small group, and Fergus in particular, as a rallying point for those who were outraged by what had happened at Highever -  _if they even knew the truth of the matter_  - was great, but in the end Nathaniel and Fergus both knew it would be counterproductive at this point. They did not have the manpower to support that sort of move, even though it might give added heart and strength to those fighting against Loghain and Howe.

And so they would refrain from becoming involved in an outward manner … and do their level best to not fall into the hands of one of their opponents. That, on the other hand, would prove to be more difficult to determine since with their absence from active involvement in politics would make it a huge challenge to determine who was on whose side and therefore who their opponents were. Granted, there were several banns and arls on whom Nathaniel and Fergus knew they could place their trust without doubt, Bann Teagan and Arl Eamon being at the top of the list, but geography and fate being what it was, the chances of making it back to their lands was now low at best. After an in-depth group discussion that evening, Nathaniel and Fergus finally decided that the safest option would be to view anyone even who had been remotely associated to Rendon Howe or Loghain MacTir before this all started, including Banns Loren and Coerlic to name just a couple, as opponents and therefore against them.

"We'll need to be extra careful then, until we pass through Bann Loren's lands," Trinion advised. His eyes turned to give Fergus a hard look then. Despite the fact that he now sported visible scars, longer hair and a bit of facial hair, there was no doubt to the man's identity. He was very much his father's son. "Especially you, your grace."

Nathaniel nodded his agreement with that. When Fergus tossed him a dark look, Nathaniel simply shrugged. "Hey, I was gone for years. Most of those who know me are in the Free Marches."  _Or were_ , he added silently, his thoughts touching on the memories of what they had found there.

Fergus' scowl darkened, though he knew Nathaniel was right on that account. "Well, it isn't like I can do anything else to disguise myself," he groused. "Except perhaps wearing leather armor." What an uncomfortable thought that was. Fergus was a warrior used to wearing heavy chainmail at the very least. The thought of forsaking that sort of protection simply in the name of a disguise made him nervous to the extreme.

"We'll just have to be careful," Nathaniel assured him.  _And should the worst happen, we'll find some way to get out of it._  He would be damned if he was going to let his father, or worse, men like him, succeed with their plan. Not if there was anything he could do to prevent it.

* * *

But best laid plans often change, and sometimes without much warning.

"Has it occurred to you that it is inherently dangerous for the true Teyrn of Highever to be seen together with Arl Rendon Howe's renegade son?" a deep, rumbly voice hissed in concern.

"By whom?" came the nearly as quiet reply.

The sheer weight of the sigh of exasperation that passed his lips then nearly shook the trees and shrubs around them with its intensity. "By  _any_ one, you dolt!"

"Are you supposed to refer to the - what was it you called me? The 'true Teyrn of Highever'? - as a 'dolt'?"

"When he's acting like an arrogant, insufferable, stubborn ass who is also my wife's brother, then  _yes! Some_ one has to get through to you!"

Grayson glanced over at Durbin for a moment and the two men rolled their eyes at each other. Nothing unusual in this exchange. The tension between everyone, but especially these two men, had been increasing the longer the group remained in lands that were controlled by Bann Loren. For the most part, they took it out with words, most of which were never meant more than as a release of frustration, but as their small party was currently out hunting for the evening meal ….

"My lord …?"

Fergus sighed this time and Nathaniel grunted, both men returning to silence. As he turned his attention back to the trail before them, Grayson found himself wondering just how long this session might last.

Surprisingly, it turned out to be sometime later while they continued following the trail of a deer leading them a merry chase, that the concerns from several evenings previous were suddenly and quite forcefully put to the test. An unexpected and totally foreign voice shouted an alarm, alerting the four men to the fact that they had been spotted moving about in the woods. Yet, it wasn't the initial alarm that made them so wary as it was the echoing calls and the sound of booted and armored reinforcements approaching rapidly that caused the small hunting party to break into pairs to better try to blend into their surroundings and return to camp to warn the others.

Nathaniel took the lead early on and Fergus took no issue with this. Despite the fact neither knew the area at all, Fergus was aware of the specialities of Nathaniel's training and no matter how they might gripe or groan about it, particularly when times were a bit rough, he did trust his brother in law. Completely. At least, it was the only reason he could give for the fact that he was now ducking and dodging his way through a forest, attempting to avoid errant tree branches as much as the men who were after them.

Nathaniel nearly missed his footing as he came to a sudden halt through the brush and brambles. Fergus, behind him and not noticing right away, slammed into his friend and nearly sent the man over the edge of the hill. "Dammit," Fergus muttered, more frustrated that he'd not noticed Nathaniel coming to a halt than any other reason.

"Come on," Nathaniel grunted, carefully making his way over the drop-off and attempting to slow and silence his descent into the leaf and branch covered ravine below. They needed to keep to terrain that would allow nature to cover their tracks since they did not have the time to do so at the moment.

Fergus followed suit, utilizing whatever he could hold on to in his attempts to keep from allowing momentum to carry him down the decline at a faster pace than he wished. Bent and broken trees and limbs, a boulder wedged into the side of the ravine, even clusters of bramble and brush were used. All the while, however, he found himself quite envious of Nathaniel's natural ability to move in stealth and silence. Each snap of a twig or rustle of leaves had Fergus gritting his teeth, expecting to be found out at any moment.

But they made it down, surprisingly enough, and began moving at a quicker pace once more. Fergus followed Nathaniel, recognizing that his sister's husband was clearly a better tracker and scout than he would ever be and likely knew of places in such dense forested areas like this that would work in their favor. At least, he hoped Nathaniel did.

"Over this way," Nathaniel hissed, veering off suddenly to their left and leading the way through the trees. Somewhere ahead of them, Nathaniel could hear flowing water. River, stream or creek, he was not certain, but running water would give them a place to walk through for a distance that, though it would put them in more open view, it would help hide their scent from tracking animals. And if there was one thing Nathaniel had heard, it was the sound of dogs with the footsteps that had chased after them.

When they came upon the stream, Nathaniel grasped Fergus by his upper arm and pulled him in quickly, lifting a finger to his lips to remind his friend to remain as silent as possible as they headed downstream. It was tricky, to say the least. They had to move fast enough to stay ahead of those who were following them, and yet slow enough that they were not splashing water all over or loud enough to be heard. They managed to traverse the stream for a time, unending minutes or so Fergus thought, until Nathaniel found a densely covered area leading towards another hill, this time one for them to climb. Following closely behind, Fergus made his way out of the water …

Nathaniel was startled by the sound of a thud and immediate groan behind him, turning to find Fergus face down in the shrubbery and brush and other vegetation he'd decided to lead them through. His hope had been to disguise their departure from the water as much as possible … but seeing Fergus lying on the ground had Nathaniel realizing that the man's armor and clothing, soaked through by the water, had made the vegetation slippery. Too slippery. Kneeling down, Nathaniel hissed, "Are you alright?"

Fergus groaned again, softly to be sure, but he thought he could almost hear the sound echoing around them. Pushing himself up, he was about to respond when he felt the first telltale signs that something was very, very wrong. Breathing in sharply, his breath catching in a somewhat pain-filled gasp, it was all the noble could do not to lift his hands to his face. Glancing up quickly, he saw Nathaniel's look of concern evolve into one of horror, and between that and the prickly and awkward feeling now creeping across his face, Fergus came to a quick conclusion. "Rashvine," he gasped harshly, pushing himself to his knees before attempting to stand. "I'm  _very_  allergic." He knew all too well that didn't even  _begin_  to describe his reaction. Last time he'd been subjected, when he'd been about twelve, he'd swelled up horribly and been confined to bed for over a week. The only reason he hadn't had any major health issues with it at the time was because of the healing mage his parents had employed at the time.  _Healing …_  Hoping for the best, Fergus reached for one of the health potions he carried on him and downed it as he stood up. All things being equal, this would hopefully keep the breathing issues that could result at bay.

Nathaniel could not help but stare at his friend in horror. For most people, rashvine was something to be avoided whenever possible, the rash that developed something on the upper end of agony. But there were very few he knew, that had even worse reactions. People for whom the reaction to the weed could be intensely dangerous, and possibly even deadly. People like Fergus it seemed. The would-be teyrn's face was rapidly swelling and now was taking on the shape of a misshapen mass of bulges and blisters in some of the most disconcerting shades of pink and red that Nathaniel had ever seen. Nathaniel didn't dare touch him either, though his instinct wanted to do so if only to get him moving again. However, he realized that the oils from the plant, the culprit for the rash and such, could well be on his armor and if he did touch him would transfer over.

"Fer -" he began, but was cut off a moment later when a shout from above them rang out and suddenly soldiers and mabari appeared from out of nowhere.

Three crossbowmen on the rise above them lowered their weapons to aim directly at the two men as a fourth snarled, "Well, you both led us a merry chase now, 'aven't you?"

Nathaniel's gaze lifted to meet Fergus' for a moment, but neither man spoke. They'd been caught. The only benefit to the situation that Nathaniel could see at that moment was that with the rash and blisters and swelling all over his face, no one would be able to tell who Fergus was.

"Let's get 'em back with the others, boys," the man ordered the rest of his companions. "We'll take 'em in and see w'at they got to tell us. Then we'll let 'is lordship decide w'at to do with 'em …."


	66. Peak of Perfection

The time it took for Bryallyn and her party to head north out of Haven and around the western coast of Lake Calenhad ended up being more than enough time for Leliana to make her journey. Bryallyn's increasing need for a slower pace of travel was beginning to affect the distance they could travel. That it was beginning to affect her role in the fighting was something that was not spoken of.

_Yet._

Had her condition not been an impediment, it would only have taken them a few weeks to arrive on the northern edge of the lake. With the seasons changing, precarious travel at best through a semi-mountainous area, and the ever present danger of darkspawn attacks that could not be avoided, it took Bryallyn's party nearly a month to reach the location. Agreement ahead of time had determined that Leliana would meet up with them in an area safe for encampment that Bryallyn knew from her years at her father's side, studying and learning all that she could for the time that the information would be necessary. Little had she realized it would be under such circumstances. The fact that it came without Highever troops or her father present Bryallyn tried to keep in the distant part of her mind, something to be dealt with later, when time permitted. Some things would take much longer to heal than just weeks or months.

The encampment itself was located a short ways east of the Lake Calenhad dock area at Kinloch Hold where they had encountered the ambush by members of Haven's dragon cult. It was near, but not over, the border with Bann Loren's lands, and a location that had a plentiful water source as well as being set back from the main roads enough so that detection by those who did not know of its presence would be virtually impossible. As Bryallyn led her companions into the area that afternoon, Constant actually scouting a short distance ahead of her, she curved around the bend leading towards the open area beside the watering hole … to find a small fire already aflame in the larger fire pit, a bedroll laying nearby, and travel kit and gear beside it. That Constant remained relatively calm and collected nearby reassured Bryallyn that the camp belonged to someone known to him.

"Leliana?" Bryallyn called out, turning from examining the camp to searching the tree-lined edges of the clearing beyond them and noting that Constant seemed to be nodding his head slightly at her use of the name. A soft rustling sound nearby had Bryallyn turning in that direction and, as Constant was still not alerting her to any danger, she did not reach for her bow. Eyes scanning around, Bryallyn focused on her search and not the sound of the other companions as they began to join her. Constant held no such compunction and trotted over to Alistair first and then Sten.

Bryallyn was about to turn back to assist, realizing that the need to establish their camp was first and foremost, when the slightest flicker off to her right caught her attention. Maintaining a neutral expression, Bryallyn whistled softly for Constant, kneeling beside him after he rejoined her and whispering in his ear, "Find Leli." Rising back up, a small stick now in hand, Bryallyn tossed it in the general direction she suspected the bard to be hiding and gave Constant the signal to fetch. The hand signal had a deeper meaning, however, when combined with her request, and this soon became apparent as the hound trotted after the stick before veering sharply off to the left and, with a sharp yip of surprise mixed with recognition, pounced in the area Bryallyn had identified. He'd not noticed her at first, as Bryallyn had thought might happen, but by leading him in with the stick, he'd picked up her scent …. Bryallyn heard a soft exclamation and she grinned.

"Ooof!"

Moving quickly, Bryallyn reached the pair and signaled Constant to release the bard, now lying flat on the ground. Reaching out, Bryallyn offered her hand which, thankfully, the bard accepted as she rose to her feet. "Need I remind you," Leliana teased with a mocking glare of indignation, "that mabari slobber stains leather horribly!"

Chuckling, Bryallyn simply held her grin in place. "So you have mentioned," the Warden returned before turning back towards the camp. As they approached the fire, Leliana's things now pulled closer to the tent she often used that one of the men had put up, she ventured quietly, "Was the trip a success?"

Leliana nodded immediately. "I was there to witness it for you," she added, the awe clear in her lilting tones. "Arl Eamon wished me to extend his eternal thanks for being so persistent in your search."

Bryallyn schooled her features to remain as neutral as possible and bit back any comment she might have made. Bryallyn was a nobleman's daughter and knew well all the players involved in the political schemes and machinations of Ferelden. She also was well aware of those who tended to take more upon themselves than they had rights to. Though she did not believe he quite fell into this second category, Bryallyn found that she did not trust the man for some reason. That, plus the fact that in her mind at least, the Lady Isolde  _did_  fall into that category was more than enough for her to be wary of any intentions from that camp.

Teagan Guerrin, on the other hand, was not like his brother at all in that regard. Speaking of …. "And Teagan?" Bryallyn asked as she and Leliana took a seat near the fire, both women carefully feeding it and enlarging it so that they could prepare the evening meal.

Leliana gave Bryallyn a sly side-glance then. "Have you your eye upon the bann?" she teased lightly. Bryallyn scowled and Leliana giggled. "Bann Teagan asked me to convey his thanks to you as well, and to remind you of his reassurances that, should you wish it, his bannorn will be a safe haven for you when your time comes."

Bryallyn nodded and carefully added another log to the fire while keeping her eyes averted from the bard's. She had not shared that bit of information with any of her group just yet, though she had given it very careful consideration and had decided that they would head to Rainesfere when she neared time for the child to be born. In some ways the bann was just as open and friendly as his demeanor sometimes seemed. No strings. No demands for payment or recompense. Simply an offer of friendship and support and protection to one whom he considered friend. It was reassuring, to say the very least, especially in times when you knew not who was ally or friend.

* * *

Had she known what would come of her agreement, a few nights later when Levi Dryden stumbled upon them in camp, accidentally finding the very people he had been looking for all along, Bryallyn might not have agreed to go along with his request to go in search of Soldier's Peak. However, she hadn't known, and there was always the Grey Warden connection, both via his ancestor, Sophia Dryden, and the fact that he insisted that Duncan had promised to help. This last had come out of the blue as Bryallyn and Alistair both had spoken with the man in more detail, and though she felt a twinge of pain still at the loss of the man who had been for such a short time her Commander and her friend, a quick and worried glance over at Alistair reassured her that he at least was dealing with his grief better now. Their eyes had met for a moment, and though the smile he had given her was tinged with the same sense of loss, she could see that he had come to terms with it, or was at least able to put it in its proper place until he could find a better time in which to deal with it.

After a long night of discussion, hearing Levi's tales about the Peak, about the history (what he knew of it at least) of Sophia Dryden, and then an impromptu session of planning how to proceed from there, a plan was hatched by which the group would go in search of Soldier's Peak instead of heading on towards Denerim. Bryallyn and Alistair both studied the map that Levi showed them, and over their watch shift and through at least two pots of tea, they came up with something resembling a plan.

It took them almost two weeks to finally come upon the entrance to Soldier's Peak. Granted, the issue had not been so much the guesswork involved (they had known that going into this venture) but the weather on the way to the place. Though they were well north of the colder climes of the country, that did not mean that there was no chance for inclement weather along the way. Winter was nearing, and there had been many a cold season in the past when Highever, one of the furthest points north in the country even, had suffered through winter storms and blizzards and the like. Thankfully, the weather was not quite that bad yet, though if some of the comments from her traveling companions were an indication, the sleety half snow-half rain was worse. But finally, they managed to locate the entrance beneath the proper mountain range and moved 'indoors' so to speak.

However, once out of the elements, they still had to determine what path to take. Bryallyn had heard much about the caves in this range, old mining tunnels whose secrets were held close by the villages and populations thereof. Though they mis-stepped a few times (after all, maps pieced together over time and various sources were bound to have errors in them), they did find their way through.

What they found, though, was something that Bryallyn hoped to never see again in her lifetime. While certainly not one of the more frightening images she had come across during recent months (the Darkspawn were the winners there, hands down), the hoary visions left behind like an echo of the past giving them insight as to what actually had happened with Sophia Dryden and the Wardens … and then to find that Sophia Dryden had been possessed by a demon. But even that was an over statement as there was virtually nothing left of Levi's distant grandmother. After time spent listening to 'Sophia,' questioning her, Bryallyn found herself in a situation in which the skills that Leliana had been teaching her for the past weeks and months came into play. In this case, trickery and deceit became useful tactics and ultimately the play of an ancient blood mage against a demon possessed Warden Commander was satisfactorily resolved. The Veil now healed, the portal for demons and other evil minions now closed off, Soldier's Peak began to settle.

Much work was needed to return the keep to a livable state, but Bryallyn and her companions remained to help get things well under way, and within a short time, numerous members of Levi's family - brothers, in-laws, children of all sorts, cousins - began to arrive. And with them came more help with the keep, with mending weapons and armor, there seemed to be no area in which some member of the Dryden family did not excel. Gratitude notwithstanding, Bryallyn was able to outfit both Leliana and Zevran with sets of armor in exchange for very reasonable prices.

And then, finally, Bryallyn managed to find a moment's peace and quiet. No talking ghosts. No undead or demons or possessed Wardens attacking. No abominations just waiting to pounce upon unsuspecting adventurers. Just the wind whipping around the outer edges of the keep tinged with the sharp bite of snow, winter now hitting in full force on the Peak.

Bryallyn made her way to the bridge between the keep and Avernus' workspace in his tower. The aged Warden had agreed to remain there, out of way of the Dryden clan, and to continue his research (within reasonable means, much to his disgust). Closed away from the rest of the world as such, Bryallyn knew she did not need to worry about him interrupting her moment. The Drydens were, as always, busy. Bryallyn found it amusing to watch them at times, though each had different chores and responsibilities in different fields, even the children, she had to admit that they were very enthusiastic about life in general. Levi's reaction to Bryallyn's agreement to allow them use of the keep in return for establishing a somewhat privatized Warden trading center should have alerted her to that. In many ways, Bryallyn found herself reminded of Castle Cousland and Highever.

That thought taking hold, Bryallyn wandered about halfway across the bridge, stepping closer to the wall. Staring off into the distance, her eyes drifting north and west, Bryallyn's hands came to settle atop her ever growing belly. Her eyes focused towards Highever, her thoughts drifted to the faces and memories of those she had known and loved. Family. Friends. Servants, merchants or any other level of the social ladder, it didn't matter. She had known many, both at the castle and in the town, and at the moment, she could not help but dwell on the losses and how her child would not have the opportunity to know those who had influenced her in her youth.

* * *

He was aiding Sten and Mikhael Dryden with adjustments to Mikhael's smithy area when Alistair realized that he had not seen Bryallyn for quite some time. A quick glance around the courtyard confirmed that she was not present there. A short time later, a scouring of the keep and a quick discussion with Leliana and Wynne informed him of the same within the building. Frowning, Alistair made his way into the kitchens where he was plied with several freshly made honey buns by Levi's wife (she had learned very quickly how to meet the needs of both Wardens' ravenous appetites). Waving his thanks, he departed soon thereafter and turned towards the only other place he could think to find her: the bridge.

He was not surprised to find her there, he realized as he stepped out onto the bridge, but he did feel concern. Oh, she was dressed warmly enough, a heavy cloak hanging about her shoulders even, and yet he could tell there was something wrong. When he observed her far away look and her hands rubbing lightly over her abdomen, he could not help but wonder if she was ailing. Perhaps he ought to summon Wynne?

Instead, he slowly approached her, though he coughed loudly to be certain she was aware of his presence. She did turn slightly as he neared, just a bit of a glance to verify that it was him, and it was then that he noticed the sadness in her eyes, the silvery tracks of tears that had rolled down her cheeks, and he felt his concern triple. "Bry? Are you alright?" he asked cautiously. She did not seem to be hunched over or anything, so hopefully that meant it would not be due to physical pain. But if not that, what …?

He watched her nod at him in affirmation, though he saw fresh tears breaking free. His concern increasing, he reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder as he stepped beside her. "What's wrong?" His voice held concern, but there was a gentleness there too. He hoped that she couldn't sense the rising panic, though. If something was wrong, if she could not continue to lead them, then it would fall to him, and though he'd done this on more than one occasion during their journey, it was not anywhere near that sort of level of ….

"I'm fine," she told him and Alistair glanced down at her to search her eyes. It was something he'd been trying lately with Leliana, though he knew he wasn't having much luck there. The bard's training was just too good. But, though she too was learning the same bard skills, Bryallyn either could not or would not mask her feelings quite as well as their Orlesian friend. So he looked, the brow above one of his eyes popping up a bit higher than the other in a look that told her he didn't believe her.

At first, it seemed as if things were fine. Alistair observed a slight twitch of amusement at the corner of Bryallyn's lips, heard a soft almost snort as she tried to hold it in … and then her eyes filled with tears again and she ducked her head away and Alistair inwardly cringed.  _What did I do wrong?_  he wondered silently while trying to find a way to determine the cause of her current state. "Bry -"

"No," she rasped out pleadingly. "Just … let me be … for a moment."

Sighing in resignation, Alistair released his hold on her and took a step back. However, her arm shot out and grasped his arm before he had managed to complete the motion. "Stay …?"

Another sigh. Maker's breath, he was so confused!

* * *

Bryallyn nearly panicked when Alistair took a stepped back from her and seemed to be preparing to leave. Her arm shooting out, she asked him to stay, though she still would not look at him just yet. She knew her words were contradictory, but then, so was her current emotional state. How was she to explain it all? Should she even try? Would he even care?

She felt a sob catch her off guard then, escaping past tightly pressed lips that had been holding it at bay. That was unfair to him, she knew that. Alistair had been nothing but supportive from the first. He had a right to be confused and concerned, she understood that too, though it did not make it any easier for her to talk about what was troubling her. "I - I'm sorry!" she whispered, struggling with emotions that were running rampant. Wynne had told her she would have moments like this, moments in which she would feel sudden and sometimes inexplicable mood swings. "Alistair - I just …."

Alistair sighed again, but he remained, thankfully. "I don't understand," he told her. "First you tell me to leave and then you ask me to stay -"

Bryallyn removed her hand from his arm then, lifting it to wipe back the tears. "I don't understand either," she returned with a bit of a plaintive wail in her tone. "Wynne says it's because of the baby … that I'll have moments like this, changing my mind about things, getting upset for no reason." Now it was her turn to sigh. "I … I just …." She bit her lip, pulling it between her teeth and tightening her hold on it, hoping that the pain might help her focus. "I … I want … my husband..."

Before she could find courage to look up at him, to see if he was laughing at her for what she was almost certain was a childish reaction, particularly this late in the game, she felt Alistair's arms slide around her and pull her in close for a tight hug. He started speaking, but she could not focus on the words because his actions sent her over the edge yet again. Sobbing uncontrollably, she leaned into his shoulder, taking the support he was offering so freely, and simply allowing her turmoil out through tears. How long this continued, she did not know, but she would not be surprised to find that it lasted for quite a long while.

When finally she seemed to have cried herself out, Bryallyn lifted a hand to wipe tear trails from her cheeks. Through somewhat watery and blurred vision, she noticed Alistair's hand rise, a cloth in his hand that he was soon pressing into hers. His continued patience and thoughtfulness by offering her his handkerchief nearly set her off once more. "Better now?" he asked quietly.

Bryallyn nodded as she put the cloth to good use. Sniffling just a bit, she added, "Better than a moment ago. Thank you."

They stood there, both staring off into the distance with the silence settling around them. After a time, when it seemed to Bryallyn as if the silence might suffocate instead of comfort, she raised a hand and pointed off towards the northwest. "So close," she whispered feeling tears threatening once more. She felt a weight settle upon her shoulder though, and glanced up at Alistair. There was comfort offered in the pressure of his hand there, in the look upon his face.

"We could go there," he offered, "though in your current condition it might not be the best option." Bryallyn raised a brow at this, curious to his train of thought in that regard. As if reading the question in her look, he explained, "Well, Howe has control, right? I doubt that he's there, but his troops are. They're probably on guard for anyone who shows up with a Cousland connection. Since you're not only a Cousland but carrying an heir to the family, I would think that would make you doubly important for them to eliminate."

Bryallyn blinked rapidly for a moment, but a soft smile played at her lips. "Alistair," she murmured, turning slightly so she could look up at him with a bit more ease, "you are beginning to understand the politics of all of this very quickly in a short span of time."

Bryallyn saw a blush creep over his face then. "Yes … well … erm …."

Bryallyn chuckled. "You and Leliana make a good team." Bryallyn bit back even more amusement as his face darkened. She honestly was not trying to embarrass him or tease him in any way, but just when she thought he might be moving beyond his innocent upbringing, the oddest comments would set him into a tailspin.

Bryallyn felt a shifting of pressure against her abdomen then and her hand moved to rest over the place. She chuckled softly as she felt it again. It seemed as if the child was speaking to her ….

* * *

Alistair was not certain why, but it seemed even the most innocent of comments from Bryallyn could still send him blushing. He assumed it was because their relationship was much more solid now. The level of trust between them was certainly rising now that their roles in this adventure (that didn't put too glib of a spin on things, did it?) were better defined. When Bryallyn had first taken over the reins as leader of their group, Alistair had willingly allowed her to do so. However, as time had passed, as Bryallyn had pulled him into a more substantial role, Alistair had come to realize that it was probably for the best. He'd been a bit resentful at first, though he never would have said it aloud to her, and almost terrified at the thought, but as their journey progressed, she never seemed to push him beyond his limits.

To that end, their relationship seemed to have gelled into something more akin to siblings, or so he thought. Light teasing, begrudging respect, certainly a healthy level of platonic love on both ends. Had that not been the case, would Bryallyn have been able to spend the better part of the past half hour crying on his shoulder? he wondered. As she had pointed off to the northwest (his knowledge of Ferelden geography, a must-have course at the monastery, standing him well enough to realize she was indicating Highever), the placement of his hand at her shoulder in silent support had seemed as natural as breathing. He knew he'd overreacted to her observations about his assessment, though he could not quite pin down why. Perhaps it was because she had mentioned Leliana? Though, granted, Bryallyn knew about his relationship with the bard, so maybe he'd simply read too much into her comments. On the other hand, when she'd continued to praise him in regards to it, he'd just blushed harder. Internally, he was sighing in exasperation at himself.

At first, when he observed Bryallyn shifting her hand to the swell of her child, he'd felt a moment of panic. That had been enough to cause the embarrassment to fade immediately. Instead, a series of panicked questions began to haunt him.  _Did he need to find Wynne? Should he escort Bryallyn back down to the main part of the keep? Or, was it serious enough he should carry her down? Maker's breath! What if she needed immediate help? Should he call for Wynne to come up? What if …._

But as these began running through his head, he glanced down at her face to see if he could determine the state of her distress … and found something else entirely. Blinking back surprise, Alistair realized that the look on Bryallyn's face just then was one of wonder, not pain. As this began to sink in, he watched as she moved her hand just a bit, off to the side and down just a little … and then he saw it. His breath caught, he blinked some more, and then his eyes darted up to meet hers. "Was that …? Did I just …? What  _was_  that?"

Bryallyn met his gaze and chuckled in amusement before replying, "That was the baby, Alistair. He was moving."

Alistair could only stare at the spot in wonder then. "Wait … he?" he finally asked.

Bryallyn smiled. "It's easier than calling the baby 'it,' don't you think?"

Alistair nodded, somewhat absently, as his eyes were drawn to yet another ripple of movement. Swallowing past a tightness in his throat that seemed to have suddenly appeared, he stammered, "What … what's it like?"

Bryallyn glanced up at him, confusion narrowing her brows. "What is what like, Alistair?"

His throat felt dry now, the words not wanting to come. Gesturing vaguely towards her belly, and fighting back another wave of embarrassment, he managed, "Having something, err … some _one_ inside of you like that? Growing? Moving? It all seems rather creepy to me …."

Bryallyn began laughing then, full, whole-hearted laughs that evidenced her amusement. Alistair supposed this was a good thing. At least she wasn't reaching over to wallop him or cuff his ears or something due to such an inelegant question. She began trying to explain to him what it was like, and Alistair did his best to try to understand, but it must have been obvious that he didn't because the next thing he knew, Bryallyn reached over, grasped his hand, and pulled it over to lay flat against her belly. "Hey!" he protested. "What? What are you doing? Why are you - Oh …." A gentle movement then against his palm was enough to make him cease his protests. He felt his eyes widen just a bit, taking in the experience simply through touch. "That … doesn't hurt?" he asked, his eyes moving to meet hers.

Bryallyn seemed to sigh then, but he noted it was one of relaxation. "Sometimes it does," she told him. "Especially if he's deciding to kick at my ribs, usually when I'm sleeping." She offered Alistair another soft smile, but he saw so much more there this time. Awe. Astonishment. Excitement. "But, overall, I have to admit that it's rather comforting."

Again, shock hit him. And confusion. "Comforting? How can him making you uncomfortable be comforting?"

Her voice was quiet and patient, but he heard the wonder there too. "It lets me know that he is doing well, Alistair. If he's moving, he's fine."

Alistair swallowed then, his eyes searching hers as he thought about what she had just told him. His eyes narrowed just a bit as he recalled their earlier conversation. The baby decided it was time to give him yet another reminder then and moved against his hand again. Taking his cue, Alistair asked quietly, "You - you're certain he's alive? Your husband, I mean?" Another silence, Alistair's thoughts jumbling around inside of his head as he gave Bryallyn a considering look and watching her nod her assurances. He had no reason to doubt her. She'd done nothing but prove herself to him all along their journey so far.

"I will help you find him," Alistair promised her quietly, the sincerity making his voice deepen just a bit, "in any way that I can."

* * *

If Alistair's promise had not brought more tears for her, his follow up actions would have. Bryallyn allowed him to lead her down from the top of the keep, not bothering to protest that his concerns for her being up there, alone, feeling miserable were not good for her or the baby. So he led her down to the main floor and after a brief stop for a considerable snack along the way (pregnant or not, the Warden appetite he had warned Bryallyn of certainly was in full steam, plus a baby that never seemed to stop!) before guiding her to Mikael Dryden's stall. Alistair had a plan, it appeared, and the moment they arrived, the ex-templar struck up a conversation with the master craftsman regarding Bryallyn's bow. While Mikael examined it, Bryallyn explained its origins to him and how it came to be in her possession. This continued, switching topics over to the daggers she carried as well and eventually on to her current set of leathers that were, sadly, becoming too small once again.

It was during this discussion, as Bryallyn felt the pull of depression threatening once more, that Mikael's wife, Serena, approached and, having observed Bryallyn's state and overheard their conversation, began reassuring the Warden that the current emotional upheaval she was experiencing was quite normal. Bryallyn found Mikael's wife to be quite pleasant and allowed the woman to lead her to other topics, all pregnancy related (the woman had had six of her own children!), not the least of which were commiserations over aching backs, the (in)ability to get out of bed come morning, and the ever increasing difficulties of seeing one's own feet. By the end of the discussions, which eventually branched off in the two men discussing the weapons and armor and the two women discussing womanly issues, Bryallyn found herself to be falling into a somewhat more amenable mood. Though she could not help but miss the simple things of her pregnancy with him, she did at least now feel as if she was in a bit more control of things. And that, as Wynne had told her more than once along the way, was a victory in itself. Today, Bryallyn could do nothing but agree.


	67. Stepping Lightly

Damp, dank and a deep abiding cold that chilled the bones and set his teeth on edge. That about summed up Bann Loren's current sense of hospitality. Then again, it wasn't like the man had offered them a room at the royal palace. Or even inside his manor. Nathaniel's eyes scoured the dimly lit cell once more, lingering only momentarily on the manacles that held Fergus into place against the wall beside him. Nathaniel was situated similarly, though with their arms held in position above their heads, it made it difficult to look at the proper angle to fully evaluate his own incarcerating bindings.

For the umpteenth time, Nathaniel cursed himself that he'd not pocketed his set of lockpicks that morning like he usually would have.  _Not that it would have done me much good_ , he admitted silently, his eyes now flitting towards the far left corner of the room. He'd heard a shuffling sort of noise, but was uncertain to its source. Probably a rat or some other vermin. Instinct had him shifting his arms and wrists a bit, checking yet again for any sign of looseness. While he could feel the tingling bite as the blood began circulating a little more fluidly through his extremities, his limbs began screaming at him in regards to their current level of pain from being forced into the same position for so long.

Another sound, louder this time caught his attention. Eyes shifted towards the small window on the door.  _Just outside of the cell and to their right,_  he thought. As quickly as the hope lifted him, it died down as he realized it was, most likely, just the watch making their rounds through the passageway once again. With that in mind, Nathaniel did his best to look bored by his incarceration. That seemed to get more reaction from the guards than anything, and since getting a response from them was about the _only_  way in which he could currently engage them, he kept trying. He'd lost track of how long they'd been imprisoned, though he thought it to be no more than a couple of days at the very most. Pain and boredom had a way of altering the perception of time.

A low groan from nearby caught Nathaniel's attention. He darted one quick look to make certain the guard had not reached their cell yet before calling over in a harsh whisper, "You okay?" The replying grunt was unintelligible, but Nathaniel at least recognized some signs of life behind it. That was an improvement over the absolute lack of response he'd had before.

The footsteps were nearing now and Nathaniel cautioned, "Guards. Try to look bored … or disinterested … or something." He only hoped that Fergus could manage that in his current condition. However long they'd been imprisoned, it was clear that the allergic reaction to the rashvine from which his brother-in-law was suffering was certainly still in full bloom. Thankfully, it didn't seem to be hindering him in any ways other than the swelling of his face and some blistering.

Shifting slightly, Nathaniel felt a sharp clawing pain shoot up through his shoulder. Biting back a curse, he attempted to ease the pain by rolling his shoulder, but with limited mobility it was to no avail. Grunting softly, he attempted to direct his focus to the sounds outside of the cell as a distraction.

The footsteps he'd heard earlier had given way to silence once again which had Nathaniel frowning in concern. Eyes lifting a bit, lids drooping to assist in hiding his interest in the matter, the rogue kept watch on the door. He could hear soft scuffling sounds from beyond, but he was uncertain their cause. So far, no one had made any sort of movement towards their cell door, but he didn't expect this to last. He was about to drop his gaze completely when he heard a slightly louder if somewhat muffled grunt, more of a scrabbling around as if someone was scratching at the heavy oaken door to the cell which ultimately gave way to the creaking groan of reluctant iron hinges as the door to the cell began, albeit slowly, moving. Dropping his gaze, Nathaniel exhaled and attempted to gather his thoughts while trying to maintain his bored expression.

"My lord!"

The hoarse whisper caught Nathaniel's attention immediately, his head rising slowly in disbelief. Beside him, he heard Fergus mumbling something unintelligible. Nathaniel narrowed his eyes in an attempt to get a better view of their 'guest', but all he could see was a silhouetted shape, light from the torches in the hall flooding in behind him. If he'd just take another step or two inside the cell ….

"It's Grayson, my lord," the whisper told him again, hurriedly crossing the room then.

As Nathaniel processed this news, Grayson went to work on the shackles at his hands and feet. "Gryffyd is outside as well," the rogue added a moment later before turning towards Fergus. As he did so, Nathaniel bit back groans of protest as his arms and shoulders protested at their sudden freedom.

"Guards?" he managed at one point, turning to slip beneath Fergus' arm as Grayson worked on the rest of the bindings.

"They are taken care of," Grayson told him. "Gryffyd is freeing some of the other prisoners. Only about half the cells were filled."

Nathaniel frowned in concern and confusion. "Who else was caught?" he demanded.

Grayson slid beneath Fergus' other arm and both men began assisting the nobleman across the room. It was clear by the grunts and groans coming from him that his previous injuries were going to be somewhat of an issue before he could move with ease once more.

"None of ours, my lord," Grayson assured him. "Gryffyd and I decided if Bann Loren's men had others to worry about, the chances of them discovering our absence and following after would be minimized." Fergus grunted again. "Especially when some of the other prisoners are dressed in royal livery."

Nathaniel froze for a moment. They were about halfway across the room. "Royal liv - … Grayson, are you certain?" he asked harshly.

Grayson nodded. "Yes, my lord. These men were from Ostagar. Of that there is no doubt."

A shadow appeared at the doorway then accompanied with a soft whistle. Grayson returned the sound. Moments later, Gryffyd entered the room and approached the rest. "My lord," he told Nathaniel, "please allow me."

It took Nathaniel a long moment to realize that the man was requesting to assist Fergus. That made sense, he supposed, given that both Grayson and Gryffyd were in good shape and unhindered by injury or stiffness. Stepping aside, Nathaniel focused on getting his own body moving more quickly. Stretching his arms and legs, attempting to get the blood flowing throughout, he bit back any sounds of protest from the aches and pains. Moments later, he signaled the others to move. They had to get out of here whether he was ready to move or not.

When they reached the doorway, Grayson peered out first. "This way," he murmured back towards Nathaniel. They made good time, though Nathaniel personally would have preferred it to be at a faster pace, but given the limitations due to their present conditions it would have to be good enough. They turned to their right and traveled down the hall, Nathaniel noticing three cell doors standing ajar as they passed. As they junctioned with a cross hall, Grayson nodded to the right. Automatically, Nathaniel's head turned. Where he thought he might find a path leading out, instead he found a small niche area containing something resembling a desk, a chair and a chest. The first two he ignored, but Nathaniel wanted to examine the contents of the chest, particularly since he and Fergus were currently weaponless. Whatever had become of their gear upon their arrival, he had no clue. However, in this moment, without his lockpicks, Nathaniel was effectively out of luck.

"My lord?"

Nathaniel glanced back at Grayson who was stretching his arm out towards him, a ring of keys dangling from his fingers. Nathaniel felt a bit of fire flare behind his eyes for the first time since being taken. It was better than nothing, right? Nodding his appreciation, Nathaniel took the keys and began fiddling with the chest.

* * *

From the moment they'd been captured, Fergus's focus hadn't been on their captors, but his own personal dilemma. As a child, he'd discovered in the most difficult way possible (while out hunting with Bryallyn of all things) that he was very allergic to rashvine. That he and Bryallyn had managed to return to the keep at Highever in time to get him the help needed had been one of Andraste's own miracles, he knew. For days afterwards he'd suffered through the swellings and rash, and each time Bry had set eyes upon him he'd seen a sadness there. Later, and through the wisdom of his mother, he'd come to find out that it was guilt. Seeking Bryallyn out and after a long talk where he had reassured her that it was not her fault, she'd stopped with the tortured looks. It had taken her time to muster up the courage to ask him to go hunting with her again, to truly put the guilt and blame behind her, but she had and their next venture had been well worth the discomfort and dangers of the first. They had a bond between them, one dating back to the time she had saved him from kidnapping, perhaps even before, and with each new (mis)adventure, it only strengthened.

But if there was one thing he had taken to heart from his encounter with nature that time, it was that despite being a nobleman, he was vulnerable. He could become a target for plant or beast. This time though, it had been both, and of the two, he knew which was the more dangerous and deadly.

The health potion he'd downed so quickly right before he and Nathaniel had been captured appeared to have done the trick in staving off the worst of his concerns regarding the rashvine exposure. Though he had felt a bit wheezy later on, he suspected that was just a side effect of his imprisonment in the cell and suspended in his shackles as he had been than it was an actual reaction to the rashvine poisoning itself. No, the worst he was having to deal with out of the experience this time was the swelling which would lead, he knew from experience, to the horrendous itching that would soon follow. Maker, he needed to be free of the bindings by then. As he recalled, the itching had been the worst part, eating away at his skin like a ….

The arrival of Grayson and Gryffyd, though, had been distraction enough to cease that train of thought. Stiff, sore, and face still swollen enough to make speech unintelligible, Fergus had been more than happy and just a little grateful for the assistance when the two men had moved over to offer their help. Then the real adventure began. Feeling like a rat caught in some sort of maze, Fergus found it difficult to find enough visual perception in the dimly lit passageways to get a good sense of direction. Not that it would have mattered, really. He hadn't paid much attention as Bann Loren's men had brought him and Nathaniel in the first time.

When they came to a halt a short time later, Fergus was slightly confused. He felt Grayson shifting, heard him rasping something out to catch Nathaniel's attention. Moments later, he heard Nathaniel's rumbling baritone near his ear and a tugging at his hip. "Your blade," Nate told him. Fergus inhaled sharply. In the process of being taken in by their captors, his thoughts so clearly focused on his condition, Fergus had nearly forgotten that his blade, his grandfather's blade, had been at his side. But Nate had remembered.

Overcome for just a moment, he missed the hushed discussion that followed between his brother by marriage and Gryffyd. Turning, he made a grunting sound, as hushed as he could, to get their attention. But all he received in return was Nate's voice, assuring him, "Let Grayson and Gryffyd help you for now. We'll be out of here soon enough." Fergus sighed in resignation, for really, what else could be done? His face was so swollen he could barely see, let alone well. There was no way, given the state he was in combined with the older injuries that ached, that he could fight his way out. He would have to let Nathaniel lead the way.

* * *

Carefully leading the way down the long hall, Nathaniel listened to the sounds up ahead of them, attempting to sort them out to his satisfaction. There were the clattering sounds of armor plating and weapons and other pieces and parts made of metal and used in warfare, occasional shouts of alarm or alert, as well as several giving orders and direction. It was that last he listened for closest, hoping that he could use their content to guide his own direction away from trouble. It took them a long time to travel what, in actuality, really was only a fairly short distance to exit from the cells, but by the time they arrived at the last juncture the majority of the Bann's men were gone, the few left on guard were still distracted as they moved from cell to cell (and now behind Nathaniel and his party), and they were able to step out into the fresh air and freedom.

It was at that point that Grayson released Fergus and stepped up beside Nathaniel. "My lord?" He gestured to their left. "This way."

"Lead on," Nathaniel ordered quietly, taking Grayson's place at Fergus' side. "Hold on, Fergus," he hissed once more near his friend's ear. And for the first time since this fiasco had started, Nathaniel finally felt hope that it would soon be over.


	68. This Neck of the Woods

 

 

They were heading south.  Ultimately, their intended destination would be south and then west, to Rainesfere as Teagan’s offer of protection and safety for the time when her child arrived was too much of a good thing to pass on with the current price on their heads by Loghain.  And, with each day bringing Bryallyn closer to that day, slowing her steps and their travel time, and Wynne insisting that they ‘take it easy’ as much as possible, an early start combined with the shortening days and colder nights signalling the onset of the winter season, now was as good a time as any to get started in that direction.  Their goal was to make their way west, across the northern edge of Lake Calenhad and then south between the lake and the Frostback Mountains.  

They made their way southward from Soldier’s Peak, then, traveling through the peaks and valleys of the northern mountains, finally breaking their way just south of the northern branch of the Imperial Highway into the Bannorn proper.  Along the way, Bryallyn took note of the devastation and destruction, most of which was not caused by the Blight, but rather man fighting against man, and she felt her heart nearly break at the thought of it all.  The evidence of battle was clear: broken shields and armor, pieces and parts of weapons, bloodstained fields.  More than anything, including the less savory side effects of her pregnancy, this made her stomach churn and heave.  Thanks to Loghain, people were busily fighting each other instead of uniting against the true enemy.  It was something that angered her to her core, something her father had taught her from a young age, before her destiny had led her away from the ranks of nobility.   _The people need protecting, pup, and it is our job to make certain that happens._

They were crossing through a heavily wooded area heading west when more of that evidence met them face to face.  As they moved just over a rise, the ground dropped off below them.  The gurgling of a stream could be heard nearby, too.  The area was well forested, trees and other plants though not showing signs of the Blight just yet, still contained evidence of other ills.  Zevran was leading the way and had made it to the top of the rise when Bryallyn saw him crouch low, moving quickly behind a large boulder.  His hand outstretched towards them, the signals became clear: potential enemies up ahead.  Bryallyn had been reaching for her bow from the moment she saw him drop, the others now quickly followed suit, all armed within moments.  She gave Constant a signal to remain silent, the mabari nodding understanding as the two of them moved slowly and quietly forward to Zevran’s side.  “What is it?” Bryallyn asked.

The Crow moved his arm to point at the vale below them.  Several guards marked in armor that identified them as Bann Loren’s men surrounded another man who, though disheveled, was dressed in the livery of the king.  Bryallyn’s breath caught.  What were Cailan’s men doing so far north?  Hadn’t everyone died at Ostagar?  Turning to her right, Bryallyn signaled Alistair up beside her.  Watching his face closely, the scowl that set in told her he identified the man as well.  

Blades and bows were suddenly being drawn below, and Bryallyn nodded first at Alistair and then Zevran.  They, along with Sten and Constant would move up close to attack while Bryallyn, Leliana, Wynne and Morrigan would remain back, fighting from range.  Though tricky, because ultimately the goal was to keep the man in the king’s livery alive, after a good ten minutes of combat and, as a last resort, Morrigan transforming into a large bird of prey to grasp the king’s man and drag him from one last, desperate attack by one of Bann Loren’s men, the vale once again became silent save for the natural sounds one might expect.  

“Wynne,” Bryallyn asked, “please attend him.”

“Of course,” the mage replied.  

Turning to Morrigan, once again in human form, Bryallyn arched her brow.  “Well, that’s a pretty nifty trick,” she commented.

Morrigan simply sniffed, brushing the last residue of her experience from her clothing.  “‘Tis not a simple ‘trick’ as you call it,” she pointed out in her usual haughty manner.  

Bryallyn sighed.  “Of course not,” she corrected, nodding slightly in apology.  “My point was simply that your use of said ability at such a time was greatly appreciated.  By myself, if not by him.”  She concluded with a final nod in the man’s direction before turning away to follow after Wynne.  

Alistair offered her his arm and Bryallyn gratefully accepted his assistance as she knelt beside the figure lying before them.  “How is he?” she asked quietly.

“Not good, I’m afraid,” Wynne replied.  

Kneeling beside Bryallyn, Alistair murmured, “His name is Elric Maraigne.  We talked a few times at Ostagar.”

Bryallyn nodded.  She’d met him as well during her short stay there.  “He was part of the king’s honor guard, as I recall.”

“Hmm.  One might wonder why he is so far from that place and just how he came to be here,” Zevran noted as he stepped up behind both Alistair and Bryallyn.  

Elric began moaning then, moving fitfully but at least seemed to be regaining consciousness.  “Thank you,” he finally managed as Wynne moved to prop him up by his shoulders.  “I didn’t expect the bann’s men to notice my escape quite so quickly being there were so many of us fleeing.”  He sighed.  “I tried to hide here in the woods, but there wasn’t time.  And now I’m a dead man.”

Bryallyn frowned slightly.  “What do you mean, there wasn’t time?” she asked.  

He took a deep breath, gathering himself as he tried to answer.  “You  were there, at Ostagar.  You know how things went.  For me it was either this, or die in some darkspawn’s belly … or be hung as a deserter.”

“I daresay most people think the same of you and me, if not worse,” Alistair suggested to Bryallyn.  

Bryallyn’s frown deepened.  Alistair had a point.  With all the rumors out there, and the orders issued by Loghain, they’d been quite lucky so far in their survival.  “You deserted?”  she asked Elric then.

“I fled the battlefield when Loghain betrayed us.  I abandoned my men, and they died, and Cailan with them.  He was my king, my friend,” Elric explained miserably.  “Maker, all that time in Bann Loren’s prison and I couldn’t stop thinking about all they suffered that one dark night at Ostagar...”

Bryallyn nodded in understanding.  “We don’t always get to choose our deaths,” she reminded him as gently as possible.  

It was a moment before he responded.  “No, perhaps not.  But I’ve been given a chance to set things right.  If its the likes of you who sees me to my final hour, perhaps things happen for a reason.  The king entrusted me with the keys to the royal arms chest.  If anything were to happen to him, he said, it was vital I deliver it to the Wardens.”

Bryallyn glanced over at Alistair, but he just shook his head and shrugged.  He clearly had no prior knowledge of this.  “Why didn’t he just give the key to Duncan?” she asked.

Elric shook his head.  “He didn’t get the chance.  Duncan was always so busy with the new recruits and keeping Loghain at bay.  Whatever his reasoning, it’s me Cailan entrusted it to.”

“Is this chest important?” she asked next.

This time it was Alistair who answered.  Nodding, he explained, “The royal arms chest - it’s where Cailan kept his father’s sword.  The one he said he’d slay the archdemon with.”

“More than that,” Elric added, “there was a secret compartment where he kept documents concerning his dealings with the Empress Celene and the Orlesians.”

Bryallyn was silent for a moment as she considered this.  If anyone were to ever find such things, the ramifications could be very negative, indeed.  “Do you still have this key?” she asked next.

“The Maker has a sense of humor, doesn’t he?” Elric told her.  “I suppose it’s for the best, however - had I kept it, it would be in Bann Loren’s hands by now.”

“But you said Cailan had entrusted it to you!” Wynne exclaimed.

“I was afraid.  I thought I would lose it on the battlefield, so I stashed it in the camp.  Please - it’s probably still there.”

“You don’t think the darkspawn would have found it?” Bryallyn challenged.

“I hope not,” he replied.  “Would they even know how to work a lock even if they did?”

“The darkspawn are more cunning than we give them credit for,” Wynne told him, “but the king trusted that lock with his secrets.  I’d guess that the contents of that chest are still intact.”

Elric nodded slowly and it became clear he was beginning to fade.  “The key’s behind a loose stone in the base of a statue.  I’ll draw a map for you so you’ll know where to search.”

Bryallyn nodded and reached for the journal she carried in her pack.  Handing that, quill and ink over, she moved to help Wynne prop the man at a better angle to get the job done.  It took him several minutes, certainly longer than many would need, but given the current state of his health Bryallyn found herself a bit surprised that he was able to manage at all.  

While Elric drew, Alistair turned towards her and asked, “You’ll be taking me along, won’t you?  Call me sentimental, but I left behind some darkspawn that really deserve a sword through the middle.”

Bryallyn chuckled softly.  Leave it to Alistair to find a bit of humor in this entire situation.  She opened her mouth to reply when she heard Wynne state, “The events at Ostagar still haunt my thoughts.  Bryallyn, if that is where we are headed, I would like to accompany you.”

Bryallyn sighed softly.  It didn’t surprise her that these two would insist upon being there.  Not after their prior experiences during that battle.  “We shall see,” she finally replied.  

Elric pushed the journal, quill and ink towards Bryallyn’s hand when he was done.  “It is vital the king’s documents do not fall into the wrong hands.  As for Maric’s sword, it’s too powerful to be pawed at by those monsters.  Same for the king’s other arms and armor.”  He paused, taking a deep, labored breath.  “And … and if you happen to find Cailan’s body, see it off.  He was our king.  He shouldn’t be left to rot amidst the darkspawn’s filth.”  Elric’s words drifted off as he breathed his last.  

As Wynne moved to lay him down, Alistair helped Bryallyn to her feet.  Glancing at her fellow Warden, Bryallyn asked, “Can you and the others prepare a pyre for him, please?”

Alistair nodded.  “Of course.”

Turning to Zevran, she asked, “Would you scout around the area?  I think we’ll camp here for the night.”  A quick glance upwards reassured her senses that the sun was beginning to set.  “We can leave first thing in the morning.”

“And our destination?” he asked, though Bryallyn could sense each member of the group waiting expectantly for her reply.

“Ostagar,” Bryallyn announced.  “We shall come to the aid of the king one last time.”   _And hope that if finds him and those who were sacrificed, some lasting peace_ , she added silently.  

 


	69. Le Renard Blanc

The world around them was falling apart around them.  There was war on, though if rumors were correct the ‘war’ was actually two separate conflicts - one between men and one between man and an ancient evil.  Wherever the actual truth lay, for the majority of Fereldans it could ultimately be seen in the daily lives of the common folk who were suffering.  And, if there were people suffering, there was a job that needing doing.  And _that_ was the reason for the return.

_Le Renard Blanc._

Both name and accent were Orlesian, though the original tales came from a time when those people had been the enemy in this land.  The history was one of the old stories:   _A voice for those who needed one.  An arm for those who could not defend themselves.  Justice served for those who deserved it._  

The inevitable side effects of the current war were making such situations more frequent again, more desperate.  Too many were in need of assistance and _Le Renard_ was only one person.  However, denying aid was not an option, and thus kept _Le Renard_ in constant movement throughout the country.  The old tales often told of a stranger who traveled from village to city, from the Frostbacks to the eastern Brecilian Forest, the Waking Sea to the Korcari Wilds.  But now there was a new twist to the story.   _Le Renard Blanc,_ the White Fox, no longer traveled alone.  Always nearby if not right beside was the ever faithful companion, a wolf so dark in color that it was sometimes hard to tell when he was there and when he was not.  An animal that didn’t need sound or words to direct his efforts in battle and who could be just as deadly as the stranger himself.  The stories told of the animal being the counter image of the master, the dark to the light, but equal in dispensing justice.

Forsworn duty had brought _Le Renard_ to this town on this day, the desperate pleas of a kinsman in a nearby village all but begging his assistance.  There was a brother, dragged out of his bed before dawn and taken away at sword’s point when taxes couldn’t be raised and threats by press gangs sent out by supporters of Loghain intent upon rebuilding the army lost at Ostagar.  The trail, such as it was, led to this town and on this day, _Le Renard_ intended to see the man set free.  

But such things must wait for appropriate timing and darkness ….

 

~ ~ ~

 

“Is the risk worth the reward, my lord?” Trinion asked Nathaniel as they entered the village.

“We need supplies,” Rhyan countered logically.  “Where else would we get them?”

Though still hobbling slightly, face still a bit puffy and red from the last of the rashvine poisoning he’d suffered, Fergus murmured, “This village is under the bannship of one loyal to my father.  We should encounter no troubles here.”

“That doesn’t mean there couldn’t be traitors,” Nathaniel reminded him.  Of them all, he remembered that lesson best.  

“This is true,” Fergus agreed with a reluctant sigh.  “However, I can guarantee you that no one under Bann Nicholas’ rule has any love lost for Bann Loren.  The history between those two goes back a long way.”

“I’d still feel less concerned if we looked a more normal group,” Trinion insisted.

Nathaniel chuckled.  They did currently have the look that suggested they were mercenaries for hire, he had to admit.  Over the past weeks and months, as they’d journeyed, they’d been swapping out bits of armor, replacing pieces that had been damaged beyond repair, fixing others.  None of them had the complete set they’d once had and, in Nathaniel’s and Fergus’ case, neither currently had armor, having fled Bann Loren’s prisons only with their weapons.  

“Come along, my lord,” Rhyan purred teasingly as she slipped her arm through Nathaniel’s.  The market square was open before them as they rounded the corner.  “We’ll make things look more ‘normal’ to ease Trinion’s mind.”

Fergus chuckled, noticing a slight unease in his brother-by-marriage, but he couldn’t help it.  Since meeting up with Nathaniel and his group, he’d learned quite a bit about the other members, particularly the ones from the Free Marches, and if there was one thing he’d noticed about Rhyan Meyrick, it was that she had an impish side to her and enjoyed unsettling Nathaniel whenever possible.  Grinning a bit more widely at the scowl Nathaniel tossed his way, Fergus added, “Go on.  Go be ‘normal.’”

That apparently was all the encouragement that Rhyan needed as she tugged on Nathaniel’s arm and began moving towards the western side of the square.  Trinion and a few of the others moved off too, scattering within the crowd, but Grayson remained beside Fergus.  Fergus eyed him then.  “Have you no items to procure?” he inquired.

Grayson simply smiled.  “I will find what I need, my lord, when I need it.  First, though, I thought to assist you.”

Fergus sighed softly, but he did nod.  “Alright then,” he agreed.  He knew to protest would do no good - Grayson had proven over his years of service that in situations such as this, he would remain until the mission was complete.  “Lead on.”

Grayson smiled.  “As you wish, my lord.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

“Test the craftsmanship,” the merchant advised, pointing to where the straps were sewn on.  “You’ll not find another of its like in all of Ferelden.”

The chestnut haired woman held the leather pack by its straps with one hand and tugged firmly with her other.  Next she checked the ties and buckles that would keep it and the built in pouches shut.  Clearly, she understood what merchants expected of a buyer - a thorough investigation into the quality of their product.  Nodding a moment later, she handed over some coins.  “I will take it,” she told the merchant.  “Thank you.”

The man smiled, nodding enthusiastically, and pocketed the money.  It would be enough to buy food for his family for the week.   As she had not moved away yet, he thought maybe to suggest a belt - he made some of the finest both with and without pouches - but the arrival of two more patrons caught his attention.  Turning towards them, he was quick with his greeting.  “Ah, good sers, welcome.  How may I meet your needs this fine day?”

The taller of the two stepped forward.  Offering a slightly self-mocking smile, he gestured towards his waist.  “I am in need of a belt,” he explained.  “Sadly, this one has seen better days, and -”

The merchant nodded, his hand rising to rub at the scruff on his chin.  “I see,” he murmured, eyes narrowing in thought.  They met the brown of the man standing before him, evaluating his customer as surely the man was doing the same to him.  He noted the condition of the man’s dress, clothing in similar state as his belt, and considered.  He was not a greedy  man, by any means, and though he did prefer days in which he made a better profit, he was not above making certain his fellow merchants were likely to have good days as well.  These were difficult times and no matter the situation, they had to look out for each other.  

Reaching to his right, the merchant pulled out a sturdy, simply decorated length of leather.  Though not his most elaborate of designs, it was strong and would last for a long while.  It was also one of the less expensive ones.  Handing it over for the man to inspect, he explained, “The widow Thompson, four stalls over,” he pointed further into the square, “and I often work together, should your needs fall to clothing and the like.”

The man chuckled.  “I will take that under advisement.  Thank you.”  After examining the belt, he handed it over to the man beside him.  A moment later, he was handing it back with a nod.  “I will take this, thank you,” he announced as he reached for his coin pouch.  “Have you any further suggestions?”  

The merchant nodded and smiled.  “That  I do, my lord,” he replied and then began to identify the others in the marketplace.  

 

~ ~ ~

 

When the leather merchant had mentioned the widow Thompson, Kayt had offered him a small nod of thanks for his earlier assistance before moving on.  One thing she was in desperate need of as the seasons continued to shift towards winter was a new cloak.  She’d been saving up for one, too, and now was as good a time as any to look, right?  With that in mind, she approached the woman and explained her situation.  

As it happened, the good widow did have several cloaks of varying designs, fabrics and lengths in her stores, and so Kayt spent several minutes trying them on.  “Oh, that one does look nice on you, miss,” the woman declared as Kayt pulled the darker green one around her shoulders.  “The color near matches your eyes.”

Kayt chuckled.  “I suppose it does at that,” she agreed easily and with a warm smile.  “It is, however, just a bit too long for the likes of me.”  Both glanced down to find that the length was at least six inches longer than necessary for Kayt’s shorter frame.

The widow Thompson smiled.  “If you like it, I can make alterations,” she promised.  

Kayt paused to consider this.  The cloak was simple, yet made of a sturdy fabric.  It was one that would offer warmth in the winter and could, upon occasion, serve as a blanket if necessary or shelter from the rain.  The design and decorations were simple, nothing too outlandish that would set her apart from the average Fereldan, no matter where she traveled.  “I do like it,” she agreed.  “How long would alterations take?”

Just then, the two men who had approached while Kayt had been at the leather merchant’s stall arrived to see the widow.  Glancing over, she offered a smile of welcome and a slight nod.  “I will be with you good sers in just a moment,” the widow told them.

“Please,” the taller man replied, “do not rush.  We are more than happy to wait our turn.”

As he turned to look more fully in her direction, Kayt met his gaze … and in his eyes found something familiar.  It wasn’t the color, or at least not that alone, she noted.  That soft, caramel color was mixed with … _unbearable pain, anger, frustration …_  Her eyes narrowed just a bit.  But beyond that, she could not shake the feeling that there was something else.   _I know this man!_ she thought, though she could not place from where.  

“I can have this ready for you just after closing this evening, miss,” the widow told her in response to her earlier question.  

Distracted, Kayt turned her attention back to the matter at hand and nodded.  “That will be fine,” she replied while handing over her coins.  “I will return for it then.  Thank you.”

The widow then turned to deal with the gentlemen and Kayt found herself torn.  The more she thought about it, the more she was certain … she KNEW those eyes.  But … why?  From where?  She’d met so many people in a life spent traveling from town to town, village to village … undoubtedly she’d met others who had the same …

 _No, not the same,_ the voice in the back of her head reminded her emphatically just before Kayt turned to leave the stall.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The widow was polite enough, though Fergus couldn’t help but glance over at the young woman leaving, the motion of her braid shifting over her shoulder to her back catching his attention out of the corner of his eye.  Focus now clearly on her, he caught sight of her face and though it did not strike any familiar chord, he could appreciate the simple beauty there.  It was clear she was a woman of the outdoors, tanned as she was.  And then he noticed the tattoo on her cheek… and blinked.   _A fox?_ he mused.   _Why would someone have the tattoo of a fox on their face?_

But then reality set in again as the widow began asking questions that required thoughtful answers … though the voice inside his head continued to ponder and muse.   _She’s a similar height to Bryallyn, barely up to your shoulders.  And her body language … that’s one who knows how to survive, to blend in with her surroundings, one at east with her surroundings …._

“She’s a ranger,” he murmured.  Maybe _that_ was why she seemed familiar?

“I beg your pardon, ser?” the widow asked.  Grayson, too, arched his brow in question.

Fergus emitted a soft, embarrassed chuckle, hand rising to rub at the back of his neck.  “Nothing,” he assured them.  “Just … pieces of a puzzle falling into place.  I beg your pardon.  Now, on what point did you require my input?”

They spent a short while discussing with the widow some of the clothing items he would need - two shirts, a good sturdy pair of pants, a heavier cloak - but when they finished and were walking away, arrangements to pick the items up in the morning made, Fergus began scanning the square.  He wanted - no, _needed_ \- to find her again.  

“My lord,” Grayson murmured in a slightly teasing tone, “you appear to be a bit … distracted.”

Fergus gave the man a dry look.  “I thought you were along to ‘assist’ me, not harrass me?”

Grayson, to his credit, barely smiled.  “Indeed, my lord.  How may I assist you now?”

Muttering to himself, Fergus turned into the crowd and continued on, eyes ever on alert.  

 

~ ~ ~

 

“So,” Nathaniel commented mildly as he reached for his tankard and took a long pull from it, “Grayson tells me you had a bit of an adventure this afternoon.”

Fergus rolled his eyes before focusing solely on his meal.  “No wonder you and Bry get along so well,” he muttered irritably, “you’re both annoying.”

Nathaniel chuckled fondly as he thought on his wife.  “Well, there’s also the -”

Fergus was quick to send an elbow into his companion’s ribs.  “Maker’s ass, man, I don’t need to _hear_ about you and my sister!”

Nathaniel couldn’t hold back a wide grin.  For the first time in a very long while, he was beginning to feel ... hopeful.  He couldn’t quite put a name or a reason to it, and maybe it had more to do with the fact that, even against the odds they were currently facing, they were managing to survive, but he felt … good about their chances.  Granted, some specific news of his wife would not be amiss, but he knew the chances of that happening anytime soon were next to nothing at best.  And then there was the fact that Fergus had been caught distracted.  It was too good of an opportunity to let pass.  Some friendly, brotherly ribbing might actually help the man through his own grief.  “So then … what was she like?”

Fergus scowled.  “Drop it,” he muttered.

Nathaniel’s grin only widened.  “I believe the description I heard was that she was quite ‘fair’ looking, ‘fetching’ even, and -”

Shoving his food to the side, Fergus rose as quickly as he could from the bench he was sharing with Nathaniel and left the table.  Sighing, Nathaniel rose and followed.  He supposed there was a good side to this fit of temper and bit of tantrum.  Fergus certainly seemed to be moving better than he had since they had found him in the Wilds.  

He followed his brother outside the tavern and into the street.  “Fergus, I was only joking!”  Then again, given Fergus’ reaction to some lighthearted teasing, maybe there was more to this than was obvious?  He wouldn’t be the first man to fall for a pretty face simply by seeing them in a crowd.

“No you weren’t,” Fergus responded grumpily.  “Your brain was addled by that swill you were drinking.”

Nathaniel laughed.  “You were drinking the same ‘swill,’” he pointed out in a logical fashion.  “Now come on back before the others eat our meals for us.  I don’t know about you, but I’m not looking forward to going hungry all night.”

But Fergus hesitated, and again Nathaniel had that sense that there was something more to his friend’s current state.  Reaching out, Nathaniel placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder.  “Fergus?”  This time, there was more concern in his tone.

Fergus sighed.  “Sorry,” he muttered while staring further down the darkened street.  

Nathaniel frowned as he released his grasp.  “What is it?”

Glancing over his shoulder briefly, Fergus caught Nathaniel’s gaze and the younger man could see bitterness and worry mixing there.  “Is it wrong that I should ….”  He growled angrily and turned away.  “Never mind.”

“Is what wrong?” Nathaniel asked, all traces of teasing gone from his tone.  “That you spotted a pretty lass in the market and thought of her in those terms?”  Nathaniel shrugged.  “There is no harm in appreciating beauty, is there?”

Fergus scowled.  “No, but -”

“Why does this distress you so?” Nathaniel challenged.  “Did you not see ‘pretty’ women before?  While you were married?  While Oriana yet lived?”

“Of course I did,” Fergus protested.

“Then why now does it bother you that you notice it now?”

Fergus tossed his arms in the air and hissed back angrily, “Because it’s been half a year since my family was slaughtered by your bastard of a father and I’ve yet to properly mourn them!”  Fergus felt the anger shudder through him then, felt his personal pain battling with his hatred of Nathaniel’s father.  “Nate … I’m sorry …,” he finally managed, unable to look at him after such an outburst.

Nathaniel had stiffened a bit at the deep seated hatred in Fergus’ outburst, but not because of what the man had said.  If anything, he understood all too well what Fergus was going through.  “No need to apologize,” he returned quietly.  “He did us both wrong and will deserve whatever fate comes his way.”  Nathaniel just hoped he would have an opportunity to be present for that moment.  “Now come on.  Our dinner grows colder with each passing moment and that’s only if the others have not eaten it.”

Fergus managed a small chuckle.  “I suppose you’re -”

Later he wouldn’t be able to definitively say what it was that caught his attention and had him glancing further down the darkened street.  The sound of air moving against clothing?  Soft footsteps across the hardened dirt path?  The heavy panting of an animal as it followed along?  The slightest fluttering of movement in the shadows where there should have been none?  Whatever it was, Fergus lifted his head in that direction, eyes narrowing intently.  Elbowing Nathaniel, Fergus’ hand went to rest at the hilt of his blade at his side.  “Did you hear that?  See it?” he demanded softly.

Nathaniel only had his blades with him just then, but pulled one dagger free as he moved into step with his friend.  “I did.”  And he had.  One of the things he had always been attuned to while hunting were the sounds and movements around him.  Loud or soft, he was able to hear thm and use them to assist his tracking.  This he did now, moving several steps ahead of Fergus and gesturing the man to follow him.  Something had been crossing their path just a short ways ahead.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The best missions happened quickly and quietly.  In this instance, springing the kinsman from his cell, one so secret that even _Le Renard_ had had difficulties in finding its location.  Next, sneaking him out to the edges of town while leaving no trace of the escape behind them.  At least until morning by which time, not much would be able to be done about it.  And that was if _any_ thing would be done at all.  The local bann was known to be against Loghain, against those who believed that the Blight was the true evil upon the land.  But even deep within truth lies could be found, in this particular situation rumor had it that it was the son of the bann who was working to undermine his father’s efforts.  

At the edge of the town, _Le Renard_ handed a small bag to the former prisoner, pressed it tightly into his hand and murmured in a heavily accented tone, “Go west.  Do not return to your village.  It will be the first place they will search.”

A look of dazed confusion still covered his features as he grasped _Le Renard_ ’s hand and began pumping it up and down several times.  “Oh, thank you!” he repeated in a hoarse voice for the umpteenth time since their escape.  “Thank you!  Thank you!  Thank you!”

 _Le Renard_ pulled free of his hold and waved a hand outwards to the open bannorn beyond.  “ _Allez vite_!”

The sound of footsteps behind them seemed to break the man free of his indecision.  Turning, he scrambled away quickly, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process.  While he did so, _Le Renard_ reached for the shouldered bow and in one smooth motion, both drew an arrow, nocking it into the bowstring and turned to face those on approach.  “ _Arrêtez!”_ came the order not a moment later followed quickly by a barking growl to the left.

It took several moments, but the footsteps slowed, eventually coming to a halt leaving only a few feet between them.  For a long moment, nothing was said and the only thing that could be heard were the slightly hurried breaths of the men who had run up.  “ _Qu'est-ce que vous voulez_?” _Le Renard_ demanded.

“You … you’re Orlesian?” the hawkish looking one gasped.  

 _Le Renard_ sniffed, the question was really undeserving an answer as obvious as the answer to it was, but the answer was supplied anyway.  “I am.”  Again, the accent was heavy.  

“Who was that?” the second man asked, nodding towards the distance where the kinsman had escaped.  

“No one of concern to you,” was the reply.  The animal nearby began to growl again, but _Le Renard_ lowered a hand and made a gesture.  For the moment at least the wolf quieted.  

“We should go,” the second man murmured to his companion.   _Le Renard_ noticed that the hawkish man did not appear to agree with this.

“But … Fergus … this could be some dangerous -”

The one named Fergus kept his eyes upon _Le Renard_ , but shook his head.  “No.  I will explain it to you later, but we need to get back to the others.  There is no danger here.”  And with nothing else but a simple nod, the two men turned and left leaving _Le Renard_ with a somewhat perplexed look upon a face hidden beneath a hood.

 

~ ~ ~

 

For several days, Fergus found himself recalling that encounter as clearly as if it had happened only moments before.  There had been something familiar about it, but not something he felt he could put into words.  Oh, he’d known who the person was easily enough.  Not many wandered around in the dead of night, hood’s pulled forward so that faces could remain hidden, a darker than dark wolf companion beside them.  He remembered all too clearly the stories that had been told in the years leading up to his departure from Highever of _Le Renard Blanc_ , the ellusive traveling vigilante who sought justice for those who could not fight for themselves.  And granted, he’d been older when the stories had begun to circulate, certainly in his mid-late teens, his parents had pulled him aside one evening and told both him and Bryallyn of the true identity of _Le Renard Blanc_.  Fergus knew it could not be the same person.  Marianne Desmarais had died during the mission she had been on with his parents.  No, this version had to be someone else, but it appeared as if the reasons for his ‘return’ were similar.  

So as he sat before the fire that night eating dinner, some miles removed from the village in which he’d had the encounter, his thoughts were distracted both by the legend and the familiarity of the person who had stood before him and Nathaniel that evening.  All it had taken was the light from the moon peeking around the clouds for him to recognize the fabric of the cloak.  Though her voice was different - lower, more heavily accented than he’d recalled from the market - Fergus had no doubt that the person behind the hood would have a tattoo of a fox upon her cheek, long chestnut hair pulled back into a braid that trailed down her back reaching nearly to her waist.  The only question that remained in his mind was … who was she?

Dinner was handed to him and he sat back, taking a bite of the stew while considering the pieces of the puzzle as he knew them.  He felt as if he should know her … or maybe that was just a side effect of the knowledge of who _Le Renard_ had once been?  So much of his childhood had been filled with stories of the Orlesian ex-patriot who had helped Bryce and Eleanor, of the life sacrificed for the greater good.  A heroine highly respected by his parents and one whom the elder Couslands had tried to help live on, if only through shared memories.  Yet, he also knew that it was through those stories that Marianne Desmarais had been kept alive and a debt of honor had been paid.  Fergus himself had only just begun relating some of those stories to Oren before his young life had been cut short ….

The sound of a flurry of movement nearby drew Fergus’ thoughts away from the temptation of despair, and he like the others around the fire prepared for battle.  Sword and shield raised, he turned towards the disturbance … only to find a familiar face entering their circle.  Their eyes met and held for a moment and yet, before he knew it, a smile graced his lips and he was setting aside his weapons.  “This is a surprise,” he told her as he stepped forward and offered her his hand in friendship.  His focus on her was such that he did not notice Nathaniel holding the others back for the moment.

“I hope you do not mind,” she told him, a soft smile turning at her lips as she clasped her hand and forearm to his with a nod of greeting.  “I saw the light from your fire and ….”

“Of course not,” Fergus assured her, gesturing to a seat nearby.  “Please join us.”  As she sat, he moved around to his position beside her.  He took a long moment to identify the members of his party.  “We never met properly back in town,” he continued.  “I am Fergus Co-”

Her smile seemed to widen then, a brightness reaching her eyes.  “Cousland?” she breathed, half question, half statement.

Fergus nodded, suddenly caught off guard.  Eyes narrowing slightly in a frown more of consternation than anything else, he asked, “You appear to have me at a disadvantage.  Have we met before?”

If it was possible for her smile to brighten more, it did just then.  Turning to face him, she announced, “My apologies.  No, we have not actually met, though I did see you once some years ago when I traveled through Highever.”  She took a deep breath before explaining, “I know you, or at least I know your parents, through my mother.  I was very young when I lost her, but she left me a written journal.  Near the end of that journal, she spoke of two very dear friends and a mission of utmost importance ….”

The pieces that had been gnawing at the back of his mind for the past several days suddenly slammed hard into place.  “You?” he breathed, shock widening his eyes.  “You are Marianne’s daughter?”

“I am,” she agreed quietly.  “My full name is Kaytaryn, but most people simply call me Kayt.”  

 

~ ~ ~

 

She had seen him once, when in her late teens and traveling through Highever with her guardian, as she’d told him, but Kayt still recognized the boy he’d been then in the man that now sat before her.  There were only a few years between them, not enough to make much difference these days, and in some ways he looked older than she now.  The events of Highever just months before were not unfamiliar to her, of course.  At the time, she’d been in Denerim, and the whispered rumors had assailed the city in a storm of speculative intrigue.  They had brought both pain and despair.

Kayt nodded her thanks when one of the others handed over a cup with something warm in it.  She took a quick whiff and identified it as tea.  While she sat there, she listened to Fergus explain what he knew of her and her past to his friends.  It became clear as he spoke that he knew quite a bit of the story, and that reassured her that his parents had remembered her mother fondly.  Somehow that made them … closer, she thought.  

“You were in Highever?”

The sudden question had Kayt looking at him over the rim of her cup as she took a drink.  Nodding, she swallowed and replied,  “I was.  When I was eighteen or so.”

She watched his face narrow a bit in consternation.  “Why did you not come to the castle?” he asked.  “My parents would have welcomed you -”

Her smile was soft and gentle.  “It was not my place,” she explained.  “Do you know, to this day, I remember your mother’s visit at King Maric’s camp?  I remember a beautiful woman, green eyes and dark hair, and such a sad look on her face.”  Kayt sighed softly.  “She was so kind.  I don’t remember what was said, of course,” her smiled widened just a bit, “as I was only four at the time, but Andaer told me later, when I was older.”

She saw him stare down at his hands then, refusing to look at her.  “She hated having to tell you and your dalish guardian that your mother had died,” he finally announced.  

Kayt nodded.  “I know.  Andaer understood that.  He made certain I did too.”  Reaching out, she touched his arm with her fingertips.  Only when he looked over at her did she tell him, “Your mother and father were wonderful people.  I have never had anything but respect for them.”

“Then why did you not come?” he asked again.  “It would have eased their minds, I think, to know you were alive and well.”

“My path was chosen already,” she explained.  “And I did not wish to remind them of the painful loss of a dear friend.”

Fergus had no reply for that, she noted, which gave his friend - Nathaniel? - a chance to speak up.  “Where is your wolf companion?”

Kayt’s brow lifted in question as she turned to face him.  “I’m sorry?” she countered, though she could tell by the determined look on his face that he had figured it out and would not budge from his conclusion.

“Your wolf companion,” he repeated.  Eyes narrowing in on hers, he added, “I was under the impression that _Le Renard Blanc_ traveled with a wolf.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fergus stiffen, heard him begin to protest softly, but Kayt waved him off.  “It’s alright,” she told him.  She knew Fergus knew.  Between the incident in the town the other night and the realization of who exactly she was, she had no doubts about that he fully understood now.  “Shadowhawk is nearby,” she told Nathaniel calmly.  “He will not come into the camp, though, unless I call him.”

Nathaniel’s brow lifted in surprise.  “You … are a ranger then?”

Kayt nodded.  “I am.”

Fergus smiled at her.  “Bryallyn is too,” he told her.  “My sister,” he then explained for clarification.

“And my wife,” Nathaniel added.

Kayt looked back and forth between them, comprehension dawning along with a smile.  “She has the blades, yes?” Kayt asked next, her focus on Fergus, but her question to both.

Fergus nodded.  “She does.  Her ability to _use_ them well, however ….”

Nathaniel actually chuckled a bit.  “She knows enough,” he reminded Fergus.  

Kayt’s smile was warm.  “She is an archer then?  Or does she prefer a blade and shield?”

“She is an exceptional archer,” Nathaniel supplied, briefly thinking back to the competitions they’d had over the years.  He was not ashamed that his voice rang with pride in his wife’s abilities.

“Better even than my mother,” Fergus added.  

Kayt’s eyes widened.  She’d heard of the Teyrna’s skill with a bow over the years.  “Is that so?”

Fergus nodded.  “My mother even declared it publicly when she gave Bry the bow that King Maric had given her all those years ago.”

Kayt bowed her head slightly in admiration.  “Then I shall have to meet her someday,” she murmured.  “In the meantime …,” she started to rise to her feet, “I do not wish to be an imposition.”

Fergus was quick to follow, exchanging a quick look with Nathaniel who nodded.  “Please stay,” he told her.  “We have plenty of room in camp, and if you are traveling in the same direction, well, there is safety in numbers, particularly during these trying times.”

Kayt glanced at them both.  “Thank you,” she replied.  “At the moment, I have no specific destination, but I would be willing to travel with you for a time.”

“And you would be most welcome,” Fergus assured her.  “Come, I’ll show you where you can set up your tent.”  As he began to lead her away, Kayt chanced one more glance at Nathaniel.  The look on his face was unreadable which, for someone who relied a great deal on being able to read people in her line of work, was a bit disconcerting.  However, he did give her another nod, barely perceptible but she caught it, and she offered him a smile in return.  Yes, she would travel with them for a time, and perhaps she would be able to find out more about her mother from Fergus and in return, she could offer her services for use as they saw fit.  After all, how many people could say that they had worked in cooperation with _Le Renard Blanc_?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The character of Kaytaryn Desmarias, aka: Le Renard Blanc, is one I created for a Dragon Age RP site. She was my first, and is one of my favorites, and as I created her background to tie in with some of my other Dragon Age writings (her mother is a character in my "We Do What Must Be Done"), I wanted to actually bring her to life in one of my fics. I believe she is a good match for this story. Enjoy!


	70. Beware of Low Flying Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my two fabulous betas: Erynnar and MireliAmbar! Also thank you to those who have hung around! I'm so sorry for the delay, but I got hung up on this chapter, even before the previous one was finished, and only recently found my way around it! I have not given up on this story, I promise!!!

“Are you _sure_ this is a good idea?”

Bryallyn remained silent as they continued to travel, her own mind occupied by that very thought.  After a time, she sighed softly and glanced up at Alistair while murmuring, “No, but what else can we do.  You heard what she said.”

Alistair snorted and added, “Yeah, and I also heard her threaten to put some sort of hallucinogenic mushroom in our evening meal the other day too.  It’s all about trust ….”

Bryallyn couldn’t contain a chuckle at that.  “ _Your_ bowl maybe,” she agreed with a flash of a grin.  “Seriously though, Alistair.  You were there when she told us what was in that grimoire, and we’ve both met Flemeth before.  Twice, as a matter of fact.  If Flemeth could do something like -”

“And can you read that grimoire for yourself?” Alistair challenged.  “Because I managed a look at one of those pages and all that witchy gibberish made absolutely no sense to me whatsoever.”

“One would have to show signs of intelligence to have hope of understanding it in the first place,” Morrigan’s haughty voice announced from behind them.  

Bryallyn ignored the snide comment.  “We are close enough to the Wilds at the moment we can at least stop by to see what the situation is,” she told Alistair quietly.  “I do not intend to just walk in there, arrows flying.  We will talk to Flemeth first, find out what we can, then make a decision from there.”

They continued on in silence for a time, but it became clear that Alistair had not dropped the subject when he spoke again.  “Has it occurred to you that if Flemeth is as dangerous as Morrigan says she is - and I think we both agree with Daveth’s original observation that Flemeth _is_ the Witch of the Wilds and therefore a force to be reckoned with - you probably shouldn’t be ….”  He paused, frowned, and then stammered on, “Well, what I mean is … in your condition ....”

Bryallyn stopped walking and turned to look directly at Alistair.  “I shouldn’t be what?” she asked.  

Alistair stopped beside her, grateful the others kept on walking on ahead.  He was finding it difficult to finish his thought without succumbing to complete embarrassment, and the thought of having an audience to watch just made it worse.  “Well, um …,” his hand rose to rub at the back of his neck.  

Bryallyn’s brow rose slightly in a mixture of question and amusement.  “Yes?”

Finally giving in, Alistair gestured awkwardly towards her belly.  “That.  Should you be in the middle of a battle in your condition?”

Bryallyn suddenly found herself torn between exasperation, fondness, and the knowledge that he was probably correct.  “We aren’t going in for a fight,” she chose to remind him instead.  “And you realize, do you not, that by suggesting such a thing it would apply to battles against the darkspawn as well?  Do you _really_ want to be down a person then?”

“But you just said that Morrigan wanted Flemeth dead -”

“Morrigan wants Flemeth dead _and_ her grimoire,” Bryallyn corrected.  

Alistair harrumphed, but did not bother arguing the difference at that point, nor did he focus on any of the secondary implications that went along with it.  He clearly had a point he was trying to make, and for once, Bryallyn noted, he was keeping is thoughts direct.  “As I see things, ‘being dead’ implies that fighting is involved.”

Eyes narrowing, Bryallyn crossed her arms and gave him a hard look.  “Are you wanting to lead, Alistair?”  She was not certain how she managed to maintain it, though, when she noted the look of horror that crossed his face.  He had expressed to her before on a few occasions just how little he thought of his leadership capabilities.  Bryallyn was hoping to improve upon this, to help him build his self-esteem, but clearly that had not yet happened.

“Maker’s blood, no!” he finally managed.

Nodding once, firmly, Bryallyn announced, “Then we do this my way.”

The rest of the journey was made in silence which was fine by Bryallyn’s way of thinking.  She had enough to consider - Alistair had had a viable point, after all - without the added distractions brought on by party banter.  But as they neared the Korcari Wilds, she still had no idea what sort of a plan or strategy might work best.

“Warden, if I may.”

Pulled from her multitude of thoughts, Bryallyn paused in her steps to turn and face Morrigan.  “Yes?”

“I must leave you at this point,” the apostate explained.  

Bryallyn frowned.  “Is that so?”

Morrigan’s sage nod was solemn and sincere enough.  “If I am too close at the time of Flemeth’s death,” she explained, “Flemeth will find my body and seek to inhabit it, and thus -”

Bryallyn sighed, nodding.  “Making this whole effort pointless.”

“Exactly.”

Straightening, Bryallyn took a long look at their surroundings.  “Where shall we meet up?” she asked.

Morrigan smiled.  “When you are through, go on as you would and make camp a fair distance from the Wilds.  As much as is possible.  I will find you when it is safe for me to return.”

Bryallyn’s eyes narrowed as she sought to understand, but Morrigan responded to her question by action rather by words as she stepped back, transforming into a bird of prey, and taking to the skies.  Startled by the sudden action, Bryallyn could only stare upwards as the mage took off in an eastward direction, the sight of her soon blended into the distance.

“How do you wish to approach this, Warden?”

Zevran’s question brought Bryallyn’s thoughts back to the present as she turned to face the rest of their party who had moved in as Morrigan departed.  Glancing over at Alistair, she finally responded, “We will approach as we would any other,” she explained.  “Until we know the exact situation, we will not draw weapons.  Keep in mind, we will _NOT_ , under any circumstances, instigate this fight.  If Flemeth can be reasoned with, we will take that path.  If not, we will let her begin this fight ….”

 

* * *

 

 

“‘We will let her begin this fight,’” Bryallyn later heard one of the others echo, mimicking her tone.  Bryallyn, however, was too busy aiming arrows and letting them fly with accurate precision to bother responding.  So, perhaps it hadn’t been the best decision.  However, if there was one lesson she had taken over the years of her training from her father and, to some degree, her mother, one did not just go bounding into every situation in life prepared for immediate battle.

Beside her, Bryallyn could hear Leliana singing softly as she, too, utilized her skill with the bow.  The Orlesian was quite good, and Bryallyn thought she might even offer Bryallyn a challenge if they were to ever face off as she had in the past with Nathaniel.  However, circumstances being what they were, Bryallyn knew this would likely never come to pass.  

Eyes refocused on the scene before her, Bryallyn continued firing, placing shots as strategically and accurately as she could given that so much magic was in play around her.  She had to hesitate a short while later, though.  At the beginning of the battle, as Alistair, Sten, Zevran and Constant all hurried forward to engage the now-dragon-Flemeth and give Bryallyn, Wynne and Leliana time to take position, Bryallyn had called in additional aid from the surrounding forests.  A pair of wolves had arrived, jumping in right beside Constant, the three canines attempting to nip at the back of dragonFlemeth’s heels while the warriors attempted to do more damage up front.  One of the wolves had gone down early, limping back to the edges of the forest with whimpers of pain and anguish that were enough to cause Bryallyn’s heart to ache.  She wished there was more she could do, but with being down a mage in this fight, and Wynne’s attention currently focused on keeping them all alive, there was nothing.  When the second wolf withdrew, hobbling off after its companion, Bryallyn began looking for opportunity to call for additional reinforcements.  She needed a moment, just a small break in the ferocity of battle ….

But she miscalculated, or dragonFlemeth realized too quickly what she was up to.  Either way, in mid-call, Bryallyn noted that dragonFlemeth had turned and focused all of her attention on her.  Bryallyn’s own attention focused on the precise call for the bear this time, she could do naught to protect herself.  She heard but ignored the cry of alarm from across the field (Alistair, if she recognized the voice right), bracing herself for whatever consequences might come.  In the split second after the last of her call took to the air, the ground around them began to rumble and Bryallyn felt a sigh of relief begin to take hold as her request was granted.

The impact of dragonFlemeth’s bellowing roar nearly dropped Bryallyn to her knees.  Stunned, she had to shake her head a few times before she could bring her focus back to the task at hand, but by the time she looked back up, eyes once again focused on dragonFlemeth, she could see she was, quite literally, too late.  

However, just before the small ball of fire headed towards her hit, Bryallyn felt a cool wash of protective magic wash over her.  It was enough to ward off the worst of the damage, but Bryallyn could see that her armor had taken the brunt of it.  A moment later, dragonFlemeth’s attention still clearly focused on Bryallyn, Bry felt herself pushed roughly to the side as she was hit from her left.  

Stumbling, unbalanced, Bryallyn was somewhat surprised that she did not fall and land hard on the ground.  But her surprise was mitigated a moment later as she heard a final, bellowing roar of protest from dragonFlemeth, and turned to find Zevran scrambling up the back of its neck, blades sinking in and out of the flesh there with each scrambling step.  At the same time, she noted that Alistair had managed to move around front, his own blade sinking deep into the creature’s chest.  Only then did Bryallyn look upwards, eyes widening as she realized who her savior had been.  “Sten?” she rasped.

The look he gave her then was meant to make her cower, she supposed, but Bryallyn frowned instead.  “Women have no place on the battlefield,” she heard him mutter before he released her, turned and stalked away.  

“You know, there _is_ a reason we bypassed the high dragon in Haven,” a familiar voice observed mildly.

Bryallyn turned to face its owner.  “You think?” she countered, the adrenaline in her system leaching out now that the severity of the fight was past.  “A little difficult to do that this time around.”

“Well, yes, I suppose you do have a point,” Leliana agreed.  “But still ….”

Bryallyn sighed, releasing the last of the adrenaline just as Constant came bounding over, jumping around his mistress, barking and generally expressing his pleasure at having survived the battle.  Bryallyn smiled at her hound before reaching over to scratch him behind his ears.  “Good boy,” she murmured.  Turning her attention back to her friend, she added, “I had to do it, Leliana.  It is no different than when I assisted you with Marjolaine.”

Leliana scoffed softly, her eyes meeting Bryallyn’s.  “Marjolaine was no fire breathing beast that could tear you limb from limb, hmm?”

But behind the words, Bryallyn sensed more.  “Sometimes it is the more subtle beast that is the most dangerous, hmm?” she offered.  Then, using hands to brush away the dirt and dust from battle, she added, “No matter the case, it is over now.”  She thought to add some comment that perhaps it might result in Morrigan softening up a bit more towards them now, being in their debt for saving her life after all, but Bryallyn’s instinct kept the words from forming.  There was something about the apostate’s manner that suggested she would refrain from anything but a simple ‘thank you’ at best.   _Ah, well.  Perhaps it is a favor I can cash in some other day,_ Bryallyn mused silently.

The refreshing coolness of a wave of healing magic washed over her and Bryallyn turned to face Wynne.  “Thank you,” she murmured to the mage who had her attention clearly focused on the job at hand.

The mage smiled.  “You are welcome,” she replied as she finished.  “However, I think you and I might need to have a discussion soon on your future battlefield strategies, young lady.”

Bryallyn arched an eyebrow at the older woman, but said nothing.  After all, had she not had those same thoughts earlier?  “I will take it under advisement,” she agreed.  Across the field, she could see Alistair and Sten examining the now very still form of dragonFlemeth.  With a quick look back at Wynne, she asked, “Are you finished with the healing?”

Wynne nodded.  “Thankfully, injuries were relatively minor,” she agreed.  

“Ah, by my dear Wynne,” Zevran began in his usual manner, “that just is not so!”

Chuckling, Bryallyn left Wynne to fend off the Antivan rogue as she nodded at Leliana and the two crossed over to stand beside Alistair and Sten who had moved over beside the hut.  Leliana tilted her head towards the door and Bryallyn nodded.  “All is well with you two?” she asked the men.

Sten remained his usual stoic and silent self, but Alistair replied.  “Why do I get the feeling we still are not done with her yet?” he asked, eyes locking back on the remains.  “It’s just so … creepy.”

Bryallyn chuckled.  “You do not believe she is dead?”

Alistair frowned.  “It’s not that so much as it is … I don’t know.  I can’t put it into words.”

“It’s magic; it cannot be trusted.  This is why we stitch the mouths shut of those who would use such skills and cut out the tongues of those who practice that which is forbidden.”

Startled, Bryallyn glanced up at the qunari.  She heard Alistair’s appalled gasp echoing around them as well.  Raising her hand, she waved off his protests, knowing that this was not the right time.  Instead, she opened her mouth to reply, only to be distracted by the sound of the door to the hut opening and closing behind her.  Turning, she found Leliana returning, reaching to hand her a bound volume and a small, folded bundle.  “This is all that was inside.”

Taking both items, Bryallyn opened her pack and placed them inside before lifting it back to her shoulder.  “We should get going,” she told them then.  Discussions about magic and the way that the qunari dealt with it versus the way Ferelden did could wait for another time.  They had what they were after.  Flemeth was dead (hopefully).  There was no further reason to remain.  


	71. Tempting Nate

The decision for Kayt to travel with the larger group was an easy one to make in the end, but the full understanding of the rightness of her decision took several more days to settle.  The connection between her mother and the elder Couslands had been a close one.  That was fact, as evidenced by her mother’s journal writings. But for Kayt, the choice to join up with Fergus, to remain by his side for a time, to offer whatever help and assistance she might be able to was an opportunity she could not afford to pass up. She had not recognized him immediately in the marketplace in the village, but from the moment Nathaniel had spoke his name the night they had encountered _Le Renard_ , she had known him.  Besides the fact that it was something _Le Renard_ would do, she had other reasons for joining his party.  After all, his parents had offered her mother assistance during difficult times, it was only fair that she do the same for him. Was it not?

And so she settled into the routine of traveling among a larger group, an adjustment that despite her usual solitary status did not require much adapting. She did not speak often to the members of the group, but she found herself observing. She also assisted with scouting, hunting, as well as general defense of the group. But unless directly spoken to in regards to some specific matter at hand, she kept her own counsel. She _did_ however, finally call Shadowhawk into the camp to join them, allowing the others to become acquainted with the wolf so that they would recognize him in a fight, if necessary.

During the days, they would travel. Of an evening, they would make camp and fall into their normal routines. Mending arms and armor. Preparing the evening meal. Setting up tents or taking inventory of items they had and others that might become necessary sooner rather than later. And then there were the more relaxed moments ….

The first evening a challenge was issued, Kayt had been sitting beside the fire while crafting new arrows to replace ones lost in battle against darkspawn earlier that day.  Fergus was nearby, recounting some story from his youth which had Kayt laughing, the antics of Fergus and his sister as he described them something she could nearly see in her mind’s eye. During the process, she rose and lifted her bow, nocking the arrow and pulling the string back near her ear as she aimed towards a tree across the small clearing.    

Off to her right, she heard the steps behind her; soft, slow, but familiar enough in weight, and a smile crossed her lips. This Nathaniel Howe was good at stealth. Not quite as good as she was, Kayt mused silently, but close. And, after all, she had a few years on him in both age and experience.  

“Do not stop on my account,” his voice drifted over from her right as her arm began to lower.  

Turning, she sought him out and smiled.  “I was merely testing the balance,” she informed him casually.  

“Were you now?” he countered.

Kayt saw a hint of a smile at his lips and her brow arched in question.  “You doubt my intentions or my abilities, ser?” she asked.  

She ignored Fergus’ soft, knowing chuckle and kept her eyes locked upon the shadows where Nathaniel currently stood.  “Not in the least,” he admitted, taking a step forward and showing himself in the waning afternoon light.  “I simply wish to admire such skill and learn that which you would willingly share.”

There was a moment’s silence around the fire before it dissolved into general laughter from all parties involved. “If you simply wished to compare styles,” Kayt finally managed as laughter wound down a few minutes later, “you only had to ask!”

Offering a lazy smile, Nathaniel countered, “I thought that was what I had done?”

Nathaniel, she saw, still had his bow and quiver at the ready.  Reaching by her feet to grab her own, she nodded to the far side of camp.  “How about those trees over there?” she asked.

Fergus shook his head in no small amount of amusement as the two wandered off. If there was one thing he had come to recognize and appreciate in Kayt since her arrival, it was that her sense of humor and personality fit in readily with their group. In some ways, she reminded him of his sister. In others, of his mother. And yet still in other ways, she was completely her own self.  It was difficult to isolate these qualities as well, and so he kept his thoughts to himself.  

Nathaniel moved into position beside Kayt, eyes upon every small movement, every minute adjustment. Most he recognized, but there were subtle little things that at first didn’t seem as if they should mean much, but once she raised her arms and took the shot ….

The entire camp soon became entranced in watching the two archers practice. Two ‘targets’ had been attached to two fairly evenly distanced trees, a certain number of paces had been counted off, and once in agreement the two had begun. While they compared techniques and strategies, the others attempted to go about the business of completing the set up of camp, but every so often they would stop and watch and, occasionally, let out a whooping cheer for Kayt. The occasional glowering glare that Nathaniel would toss in their direction only seemed to increase this sort of reaction.

After completing his check of arms and armor, Fergus joined Rhyan who had arrived shortly after the two archers departed, and he leant her assistance as they sat near the fire working on preparing the evening stew.    

Another thunk had Fergus glancing up from the vegetables he was slicing. Straight down the middle, right in the center. Squinting slightly, he could tell from this distance that it had been Nathaniel’s arrow making that shot. “I still can’t get over it,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

But Rhyan heard while she skinned the rabbits and began boning them so they could be placed in the stew. “And what is that, my lord?”

Shaking himself from his musings, Fergus turned to face her. “Oh, just the fact that she has been out there, all this time, so many years … and we never knew. I think my parents would have searched for her had they known where to look.” He offered Rhyan a smile then.  “Kayt’s mother was a close friend to my parents,” he explained. “Marianne’s death was hard on them.”

Rhyan watched as Fergus’ brow furrowed just a bit at this. “Well,” she offered, “from the sounds of it, she did not wish to cause your parents more grief.” She smiled back at him.  “And whether she was raised by a dalish guardian or your parents, she certainly seems to be quite well trained and skilled with that bow.”

Fergus nodded, his eyes still watching as Kayt now was showing Nathaniel a trick or two and then took a more difficult shot, making it look simple. “Indeed,” he agreed absently. It was definitely something to ponder.

 

~ 0 ~

 

Kayt lifted her bow and took aim. As she did so, knowing his focus was upon her, she murmured, “So … if I understand correctly, your wife is an archer as well, no?”

Nathaniel nodded. “And a ranger,” he told her, echoing his words of the night of her arrival.  

Kayt took the shot, a smile curving upwards at her lips as she turned without waiting to see where it landed. “It is good to know there are more of us out there.” She watched him lift his bow this time, taking the time to set his shot before releasing the arrow.  With a tilt of her head, she gave him an appreciative nod. “Nice shot.”

“Thank you. Bry taught me that one.” Nathaniel sighed softly, but noted that the pain that usually lingered when thinking on his wife was not nearly so uncomfortable this time.   

Kayt could see in his eyes the hint of sorrow fighting back against the success of a good shot, and so she grinned, countering, “And did you teach her something in return? Fair is fair, after all.”

But surprisingly, Nathaniel’s look soured as he scowled, a look of concern filling his features. “I started to, yes,” he replied.  “Bry is an expert archer, better than me, I openly admit that. But her skills with blades ….”

Kayt paused in taking her next shot, lowering her bow and turning to face him. “Nathaniel, you cannot worry so,” she advised gently. “Not only do you do your wife a disservice, but you -”

His scowl turned into an almost menacing sneer. “And what would you know of such loss?” he growled.  “By your own admittance, you were a child when you lost your mother.  You have no real memory of her.”

Kayt stiffened slightly, but held her ground before him. She did not care that he towered over her, or that his anger was clear as day across his face. She had faced much worse on the battlefields of Ferelden over the years. “I know of loss,” she replied after a moment, her voice strong, unwavering and only a hint of sadness etching it. “My guardian was taken, right out from our camp when I was off tracking down supper one evening not two months ago. The man who raised me as his own, who saw to it I did not go without memories of my mother, who made certain I knew of her legacy and when I found a slightly different path to take, made arrangements for me to learn that as well … he was taken.  Not killed, but kidnapped.”  

Nathaniel’s eyes widened.  “What?”

Sighing, Kayt stared off into the distance over his shoulder, but her eyes were focused on the past. “We had set camp for the night and Shadowhawk and I went off to hunt dinner. This was not unusual. When we returned, however, Andaer was gone. His belongings were there. His weapons remained. There were signs of a scuffle and I was able to determine that at least five people were involved … but he was gone.” She shrugged.  “What could I do?”

“Did you not find a path?  A trail to follow?”

“I did,” she agreed. “And I followed it until I reached the Imperial Highway. Shadowhawk assisted me, I even called for others, but we could not find the direction taken after that. I have been from Denerim to Gwaren. From Lothering to Highever. Nothing. I have no knowledge of who it was who took him, or why.” Sighing softly, she turned her attention back to the tree before her. “One day, I will find out,” she added, her tone suddenly darker than before and decidedly defiant. “At that time I will fulfill my promise.”

Nathaniel blinked. “Promise?” he echoed.

Her eyes found his and he found that the ‘promise’ she had in them was enough to make his nerves jump just a bit though he knew he was not their intended target. They also told him much more than any words ever could. Nathaniel found himself incredibly glad that he had not crossed her in any way ….

 

~ 0 ~

 

“She is, in a word, remarkable.”

Rhyan glanced over at Nathaniel. They both had drawn watch this evening, given the increased numbers in their group. “How is that?” she asked in return. With his eyes following back towards the fire where several of the others sat, including the only other woman in their group, she had no doubts about whom he was speaking of.

“Her skill - as an archer, as a ranger.” He managed a half smile. “As a survivor.” Shaking his head so Rhyan knew he would not go into detail on a story that was not his to tell, he concluded, “She reminds me of Bryallyn in so many ways.”

“Ahhh.” Rhyan offered a smile in return. “I believe I heard Fergus say something much the same before.”

Nathaniel sighed and nodded. Yes, if anyone else would see it, it would be Bryallyn’s brother.  

Silence settled around them for a time, its presence comforting rather than foreboding. After a while, as they began to walk around the perimeter of the camp, Rhyan began speaking again. “Do we have a specific destination in mind at this time?”

Nathaniel shrugged. “Fergus mentioned Gwaren. I figure we will at least finish crossing the Bannorn, decide once we reach the Imperial Highway. Hopefully by then we will have a better idea which direction to take.”

“Gwaren,” she echoed. “Are we hoping for aid from the Teyrn then?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “I have no idea,” he replied. “The rumors that have been filtering out of Ostagar and Lothering are troubling, indeed. But depending on whom you speak with, Teyrn Loghain is a friend or a foe. I think the only certain way to know is to face him ourselves.”

“Is he not an ally with your father?”

Nathaniel scowled over at her. “He is also an ally to the Couslands,” he returned. “Fergus has claim to that Teyrnir, no matter my father’s grand wishes and schemes. Loghain would be mad to not recognize that.”

“It sounds as if there is a lot of madness in this world of yours,” Rhyan murmured.  

Nathaniel sighed. “Indeed.”

They neared the stream that they had camped within walking distance of and paused for a moment to take a drink. As he looked up, the moon shining down upon the water and giving some illumination to the area, he spotted a pair of eyes across the way, though they remained hidden in the scrub along the edges. It was difficult to tell from such a distance just what creature they belonged to, but Nathaniel thought perhaps a wolf. Shadowhawk?  He knew Kayt allowed the wolf free passage in and out of camp. A different wolf? Maybe even a deer? Sighing softly, he found his thoughts wandering towards his wife, wondering of her fate.   _Bryallyn, where are you?_ The uncertainty of what lay across the stream was matched at that moment by his uncertainty of her fate. A moment later, he was distracted by the oddest sensation on his ring finger. He glanced down towards the band, wondering at it.  It felt … heavy. Almost burdensome. Reaching out, he ran his hand through the water once again. The sensation eased a bit, but did not completely go away. When he looked up once more, the pair of eyes that he felt had been upon him specifically, were gone.  

Rising to his feet once again, he turned towards Rhyan. “Shall we continue?” he asked, sweeping his arm in the direction they had been headed.  

Rhyan nodded and started off before him.

They had almost completed their circuit of the camp when Nathaniel was startled as his companion came to a sudden stop, turning to face him.  He sought her eyes first, but saw no hint of warning or of distress. “Rhyan, what is it?”

Without explanation, Nathaniel watched in stunned silence as she closed the distance between them and lifted herself the short distance, placing her lips on his. Her actions caught him completely off guard; his reaction to her intentions were delayed as they finally broke through the astonishment that had overcome him with the situation. Lifting his hands, he took firm hold of her shoulders and pushed her away.  “Rhyan!” he rasped in shock.  “What are you doing?”

Her eyes found his, but he saw no shame in them. No surprise. No … anything, really, except perhaps a hint of disappointment. “All those years,” she whispered, her eyes holding his. “You always thought it was Devlyn I cared about, but you were wrong.”

Blinking back confusion, Nathaniel asked, “What do you mean? You and Dev were inseparable.”

“It was you,” she replied. “Always you. Devlyn used to tease me about it incessantly. I had to bribe him to keep him silent around you so you wouldn’t find out.”  

“Rhy ….”

The silence that hung between them this time was awkward at best. Finally, Rhyan broke it.  “Fergus mentioned that you talk to her. Is that right?”

Nathaniel frowned. “Talk to …. You mean to Bryallyn?” Rhyan nodded. “Well … yes.  After a fashion, I guess you could say that.”

Rhyan pursed her lips together. “When was the last time you spoke to her?”

Nathaniel’s eyes widened. “Rhy -”

“How do you even know she is yet alive, Nate? Would you not have spoken with her more recently if she was?”

“It does not work like that!” he insisted.

“When was the last time?” Rhyan demanded.

Nathaniel sighed. This conversation was not one which he wished to have, and yet he suspected she would not let it go if he did not. “Weeks ago,” he admitted.

“Then, do you not think -”

“No!”  Nathaniel took a step back from her adding more distance between them to emphasize his point. “Rhy, I am sorry. Truly I am. But I know that Bryallyn is alive out there,” he waved a hand out beyond the perimeter of the camp, “and I _will_ find her again.” Eyes meeting hers again, he added, “I love her, Rhyan. Can you not understand that? I married her because I love her. This is not just because of duty or because of my father’s actions or the Blight or anything, this is because I love my wife. She loves me. End of story.”

Silence fell again, broken only when Rhyan murmured, “So it would seem.”

Turning away, Nathaniel ran a hand through his hair.  “Is this … Will this cause problems between us?” he finally asked.

He heard her shuffle her feet, but she took a few moments before she replied. “I honestly do not know.”

“That is not what I want.”

This time it was Rhyan who sighed. “No, I know that.  I … I think ….”  She sighed again.  “Forgive me,” she whispered before turning and walking away.  

Turning back, Nathaniel watched her leave, heading towards her tent and slipping quietly inside. And while he sincerely felt for her, he knew that there could be no other way between them. She was a friend, nothing more. Whether Bryallyn lived or not, it would always be that way.

 

~ 0 ~

 

Miles away, Bryallyn woke with a start, suddenly fearful and uncertain as to the source. Fully alert, mind and heart racing at a pace with which she could not keep up, it took some long while and finally Constant moving over to nuzzle at her side before she could lay back, secure enough once more to drift back to sleep.

 


	72. Bunnies & Butterflies

The journey before them was long and winding and the potential dangers made themselves known at what seemed like every turn.  Between the normal hazards of traveling throughout the countryside plus the added distractions of both darkspawn and Loghain’s troops being after them, the trip to Rainesfere had so far been relatively uneventful and was making good progress.  The fact that it was taking longer than expected had more to do with Bryallyn’s need to stop earlier of a day than they might usually due to exhaustion if nothing else.  The Maker surely was watching over them she decided as they neared their destination.  Just a few days more and they should arrive.

“I suspect we should consider making camp for the night.”

Bryallyn paused at the crest of a hill, leaning heavily upon the thick walking stick Alistair and Zevran had made for her before they left the Korcari Wilds.  “Wynne,” she murmured softly, a smile at her lips.  Straightening, she placed a hand at her back and tried to stretch protesting muscles.  “I can go a bit further yet today.”

The mage chuckled softly as the younger woman winced.  “Now, don’t be acting as if this is the worst you will face, my dear,” she chided gently in a teasing manner.  “You still have to bring forth that child!”

Bryallyn managed to keep from cringing at that thought.  “Well, I did not expect it would be a Fade Spirit delivering my bundle of joy to me,” she bantered back.

“Hey,” Alistair protested as he neared, “I heard that!”

The two women grinned knowingly at each other but made no other comment.  Bryallyn had laughed herself silly when overhearing that particular conversation between Wynne and Alistair a few days before.

Glancing over her shoulder as the rest of the company slowed and joined them, Bryallyn gave in and called out, “Let’s make camp.”  The others moved ahead to find a suitable spot, save Constant and Wynne who remained close enough should Bryallyn require any assistance the rest of the way.  But within a short while, a suitable location complete with water source and enough wood for a cooking fire was found.  While the actual assembly of the camp was left to everyone else, Bryallyn took over establishing a roaring camp fire, with assistance from Constant.

Kneeling beside the stone ring she laid out, Bryallyn stacked the logs in the center.  Constant, ever helpful, kept wandering back and forth between Bryallyn and the edge of the tree line where the others had placed a good quantity of branches to make enough room for the tents.  After she lit the fire, Bryallyn sat back and offered the hound a hug in thanks.  Constant reciprocated as he always did with a slobbery kiss.

Leliana joined Bryallyn at the fire after a while, settling down beside her and sharing the duties of preparing the ingredients for their evening meal.  Skinning rabbits was easy enough, as was preparing the wild vegetables to join the meat in the stew, and while they worked, the two began to talk.  It was a companionable time; one that Bryallyn was surprised to find was becoming more and more important to her as her pregnancy advanced.  Zevran followed shortly thereafter, though he kept his pursuits to the cleaning and care of his weapons and armor.  Alistair checked in before wandering off to collect additional water that they would need for the meal preparations, but took a seat with them after returning.  Wynne joined them shortly thereafter.  Even Morrigan, who usually separated herself from the rest of the group of an evening, reluctantly joined them after a time.  By then, the stew was bubbling away and the talk began to take a more animated (and personal) turn for Bryallyn.

“You can’t be serious.”  

Bryallyn chuckled softly at Alistair’s vocalized bemusement, but allowed Wynne to continue on with her thread of the discussion.

“I am very serious, Alistair,” the mage insisted as she sat, hands working an altogether different sort of magic with the yarn and knitting needles.  “Determining whether a mother is carrying a boy child or a girl child has been a fascination for societies for centuries.  Many of the … techniques, shall we say? … are taken from very old traditions.”

Bryallyn grinned.  “I have heard a few in my time,” she agreed.  Leaning back against Constant, the hound exceedingly patient with her in her current state, she stretched and found a somewhat relaxed position.  “I seem to recall Nan,” she felt a sharp lance through her chest at the memory of the woman who had helped raise her, but she forced herself forward anyway, “saying something about a wedding ring test.”  Glancing down at her hand, Bryallyn’s fingers moved to twist the band that Nathaniel had given her so many months before.  “Something about if you loop the ring through a string and suspend it over the belly of a pregnant woman, if it swings in a circle it will be a boy; if it swings back and forth, it will be a girl.”

“Ahhh,” Leliana agreed softly, “I have heard this one too.  It is not unusual for ladies in Orlais to send for someone to ‘assist’ in the prediction of which child the mother is carrying.  This is especially true with the nobility.”

Zevran, on the far side of the fire, began to chuckle.  “Shall we indulge the Warden?” he asked, a hint of mischief in his tone.  Reaching into a pocket, he retrieved a length of string.  “Ah, look!  I happen to have string.  Normally, I would save it for use in traps, but I can think of no better cause to sacrifice it to than this, yes?”

Amused laughter filled the air around the fire.  Bryallyn began shaking her head, not really believing in such things, but Wynne rose and took the string from the elf.  Startled, Bryallyn glanced up at the mage as she returned and reached out a hand.  “Your ring if you please?”

“Now, Wynne,” she protested, but at that moment even Constant got into the act by shifting enough to prop Bryallyn up into a more seated position.  She tossed a quick glare at the hound who responded with what suspiciously sounded like a laugh, but in the end she reluctantly removed the ring from her finger and handed it over.  “I never said I believed such tales,” she protested.

While Wynne busied herself with looping the string through Bryallyn’s ring, Zevran picked up the conversation yet again.  “In Antiva,” he explained, “we have another such tale.  If the mother lies mostly on her left side throughout the pregnancy, the child will be a son.  If she lies mostly on her right, it will be a daughter.”  

All eyes drifted over to Bryallyn who currently rested mostly on her right side.  She scowled, huffing softly in disagreement.

“Among the Chasind,” Morrigan mused shortly thereafter, “it is believed that a mother who prefers eating rabbit will produce a male child and one who prefers eating fish or saltier foods will produce a girl.”

Bryallyn grimaced.  “That does not count!” she protested.  “I have never liked fish much.”

“I would imagine that would have made growing up in a coastal place like Highever difficult,” Alistair observed in amusement.

Laughter echoed around the fire.  “At times,” Bryallyn agreed truthfully.  “Mother used to tell me my predilection for meat over fish would give Nan fits when I was younger.”

The amused chuckles were more plentiful this time, now filling the air along with agreements to similar such reactions from other childhoods.

“You know,” Alistair mused a moment later, “I do seem to recall overhearing some templars discussing something like this once.”  There was a snort of protest from across the fire, but Bryallyn could not tell if it was Zevran or Morrigan.  “What?  Even templars occasionally became pregnant.”

“What was it that you heard?” Leliana asked, her usual inquisitive nature clear in her tone.  

After throwing a dark glare in the direction of the elf and the apostate, Alistair said, “It had something to do with cheese.”  This admission caused the rest to break into laughter again.  “No, seriously.  Something about … if a woman is craving meat and cheese, it’s bound to be a boy.  I think?”  His eyes fell to the leftover crumbs of cheese on Bryallyn’s plate beside her.

Rolling her eyes, Bryallyn muttered, “So there’s one in favor of a boy.”

“But you like to lie on your right side,” Leliana observed.  “So you have a vote for a girl as well.”

“Then there is the Warden’s taste for rabbit,” Zevran reminded them.

“That does not count!” Bryallyn insisted again.

Leliana waved off her protests.  “Another vote for a boy,” she agreed.  

As the current round of laughter abated, the merchant Bodahn spoke up.  Of an evening both he and Sandal would join the others for the evening meal if they arrived in time.  “It is said,” Bodahn offered, “at least among the dwarves, that if a mother has little to no ill effects of a morning that the child will be a boy.”

Wynne nodded.  “I have heard that one as well.  The more often a mother is sick, the better chance it will be a girl.”

Bryallyn winced.  She had experienced numerous mornings during the past few months where her stomach had been off.  She had hoped it was more due to stress, but Wynne had pointed out early on that it was a natural side effect of pregnancy.  Sighing, Bryallyn shook her head.  “So … it is a tie then?  Half the methods you suggest say I will have a son.  The other half, a daughter.”

Wynne flashed a quick smile as she stood and walked back over to Bryallyn’s side where she knelt, the ring now hanging loosely from the string.  “We have one final test,” the mage reminded everyone.  “If this ring swings around in a circle, you will have a boy.  If it swings from side to side, it will be a girl.”

“This is utter nonsense!” Bryallyn protested, but she did not bat Wynne’s hand away.  Instead, her eyes remained focused on the ring as it was held suspended over her belly.  For long moments, it seemed as if it might start moving, even inched slightly back and forth at one point, but then suddenly arced around in a circle.  After what seemed an inordinate amount of time, Bryallyn blew out a breath that signalled her frustration.  “Well, what is it to be then?”

“Perhaps, Warden, it is to be one of each,” Sten suggested.  When all eyes turned to him, he sniffed and looked away.  “If you believe in such things.  The qunari would call such tricks ‘magic.’”

“Hmmm.”  Zevran, who had moved around closer to watch, now rubbed at his chin in a thoughtful manner.  “Our verbose qunari friend may have a valid point, no?”

Bryallyn gasped, eyes widening in horror.  “Maker’s breath, I hope not!”

The elf shrugged, not offering any further comment, but Morrigan spoke up.  “It did, even if only in small gestures, move in both directions.”

Groaning, Bryallyn collapsed back against Constant as Wynne handed back her ring.  As the ‘debate’ continued around her, Bryallyn’s thoughts focused on the ring and her husband and the almost constant state of uncertainty since she and Nathaniel separated so many months before.  What she would not give to have him present with her just now ….

 

~0~

 

Nathaniel sat in the dark of the night, his focus on the security of the camp but his thoughts far away wondering the whereabouts and fate of his wife, the slightest glow of light caught his eye and pulled him into the present.  Lifting his hand, he turned it, eyes narrowing on the knotwork design that was now taking on a definitely lighter glow than before.  Frowning, he reached for it with his other hand and felt the warmth there.  And for a moment, he thought he could see Bryallyn’s face before him, her eyes a mixture of concern and worry as they stared back.  “Bryallyn,” he whispered, blinking as he began to wonder if he was hallucinating.  But then her eyes softened, a smile turning up at her lips.  Whether it was the whisper of the wind around him or something else entirely, he thought he could hear her murmur his name back at him ….

 


	73. Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the extended delay in posting to this and my other stories. I have had a great deal of personal life to attend these past few months (which I hope will finally shake out after the first of the year) and then in November I was focused on writing a piece of original fic for NaNoWriMo! I hope now that things are starting to settle back down, though probably not completely until after the holidays, the muses will begin talking to me once again in their usual numbers and ideas! Also a heads up - this chapter is slightly NSFW!

Nathaniel roused early as was usual and emerged from his tent with the vaguest hint of sun rising beyond the treeline.  After a quick, indulgent stretch, he greeted those coming off watch with a curt nod.  Finding Kayt seated beside the fire, stoking up the blaze so that their morning meal could be prepared was not such a surprise - even those on guard during the night appreciated hot coffee and warm food to help them stay awake.  But it wasn’t until he returned from the nearby river, feeling a bit more lively after the efforts made in getting there and washing up, that it finally hit him: Kayt had been on the early watch the night before, which led him to wonder why she was up before the sun.

Taking a seat beside her at the fire, he accepted with a nod of thanks the hot drink she passed over his way.  As she began preparations on the meal itself, he asked, “Trouble sleeping?”

Her lips tilted into a smile.  “Not quite,” she replied.  

“How do you mean?”  Her words were not as reassuring to him as some might take them.  

Sitting back and reaching for her own drink, she nodded off to their east.  The sun was now lifting higher, moving towards the tops of the trees now, and Nathaniel found it a breathtaking view.  A multitude of colors folding and bending around the sky … it was almost like an artist’s paint palette.

“There is an old saying,” Kayt murmured around the brim of her cup.  “ _Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.  Red sky in morning, sailor take warning._  Have you heard this before?”

Chuckling, Nathaniel nodded.  “I have.  When I squired in Kirkwall,” he explained.

She nodded.  “Most people take it to reference happenings upon the seas.  Big winds and storms and such.”

Turning to face her, Nathaniel’s brow lifted.  Had she asked him, he would probably have been one of those people.  “You do not believe this?”

He saw her smile fade.  “I was raised by a dalish,” she said quietly.  “A man who taught me to read the skies and land.  I am a fully trained ranger as well, knowledgeable in the ways of all native creatures to Ferelden.”  Her eyes lifted to stare off at the forested area nearby and Nathaniel’s gaze followed.  What had caught her attention, he was not certain, but as far as he could see there was no immediate threat.  “Today will be a long one and difficult,” she murmured after a moment.

Nathaniel was about to ask her for further explanation but the sounds of the others beginning to stir and joining them to break their fast cut him off.  He would catch up with her later to get the answers he needed.

 

~ 0 ~

 

Kayt lifted up the last of the children into the cart, thankful someone yanked the lad from her hands.  The darkspawn were getting closer, the taint was spreading rapidly, visibly creeping ever closer to the edge of the village … almost too rapidly for the creatures to be anywhere but practically on top of them already.  Getting this last cart to safety was going to be a near thing.  It had to leave now ….

“Go!” Fergus was shouting to the driver, his hand slapping the oxen’s flank and startling it into movement.  “Go now, while you still can!”

Nathaniel hurried over to help assist before turning to face them as the rest of the group gathering together except for Grayson who was keeping a concerned eye out to the south.  “We should be following suit,” he announced soberly.  “It will not be long before they will be upon us.”

Fergus nodded.  “We need to buy these villagers as much time as we can,” he insisted, his eyes focused worriedly on the slow-moving wagon.  Oxen were sturdy, yes, but also one of the slowest beasts of burden.  It made him shudder to think the fate of the poor souls inside if they did not have a good head start.

Something caught Kayt’s attention and she turned away to wander over near Grayson.  All of her senses were hyper aware just then, though she could not voice exactly what it was that had alerted her.   _Something in the wind?_  She frowned.   _A bird?  A sound?_ _A scent?_  She looked up at the sky, shielding her eyes with her hand.  All she knew for certain was that it had been enough to set the hair on her arms and at the back of her neck on end.  Unsettled, she glanced around, hoping to catch sight of Shadowhawk at the very least, but in the end there was nothing.  

“What is it?” Fergus asked quietly as he walked over to join her.

Despite everything going on around them in that moment, the sound of his voice helped her settle.  Without turning or looking at him, she murmured, “Not certain yet.”  She felt his hand come to rest upon her shoulder and give a comforting squeeze there.  They had spent many an evening of late in long discussion about her abilities, the skills that she had in common with his sister, what additions she brought to their group.  He knew the limitations to her skills.  She knew the strengths.  

“There.”

Grayson’s voice, low and intense, was soft on the wind but Kayt heard it.  Turning, her eyes followed where he pointed.  Still some distance away, but she could now see it too.  The taint … the fleeing animals … even the sound of the trees shifting in the wind and the darkening skies that were trailing it all.   _Change_.  The signs were very similar to that of an approaching storm.  “We are out of time,” she murmured while reaching for her bow.  She whistled sharply, the sound carrying some distance, and a few minutes later, Shadowhawk bounded into the center of the village and up to her side.  She glanced back at Fergus who stood a few steps back from her, his sword and shield now drawn at the ready.  “Go protect the cart,” she told him before turning back to face the onslaught.  

Fergus nodded his agreement even as she turned away.  He was taking his first steps away when he heard an unfamiliar whispering chant that he recognized as something similar to Bryallyn’s efforts in speaking to the animals.  He ran then and prayed that Kayt’s attempts would be successful.  Assistance from any and all sources, beast or no, would be welcomed just now.

Fergus found Nathaniel, Rhyan and Trinion on the far edge of the village, eyes on the retreating cart.  “We are out of time,” he announced simply as he joined them.

“Rhy,” Nathaniel said, eyes scanning the area, “you and Trinion take your men and protect the east approach.”

“Done,” she replied instantly, Trinion only nodded as he followed behind the Marchers.

Nathaniel faced Fergus.  “Take the Highever men and guard the west.  Grayson, Kayt and I will take the south.  Hold them back as long as possible.  We have to give those villagers as much time as we can!”

Fergus noted that the Highever men - _his_ men now - did not wait for him repeat the instructions.  Urgency was in more than just the command; the intensity could be felt in the very air around them.  As he followed and took his place, Fergus banished the memories of his last attempt at battling the darkspawn and sent a quick prayer to Andraste and the Maker in the hopes that they would, somehow, survive this.

 

~ 0 ~

 

At some point, the need to retreat before the approach of an insurmountable enemy force surpassed the need to protect the trail of the village wagon.  Nathaniel gave the orders to leave, but in the thick of battle breaking free was not always dependent upon another’s words.  Alternating cover fire for the other, Kayt and Grayson followed after Nathaniel back towards the others.  

But inevitably, the swarm of the horde became more than just an attack from the front, blending in with others from both East and West.  They broke away as they could, one at a time, sometimes in pairs.  Before deciding to help the villagers, they had agreed upon a rendezvous location should the situation deteriorate as it currently was.  

Kayt remained until the end, assured that most of the others had broken free before she made her own attempt.  She took a shot as she dodged across the field, smiling at the satisfying squishing-thunk as her arrow landed in the side of a hurlock’s neck before the creature could bring his blade down upon Fergus from behind.  “Go!” he shouted at the young teyrn, launching another missile behind her almost immediately after with the same exact precision as before.  The genlock never saw it until it had embedded itself deep within his eye.

“Not without you!” Fergus insisted as he gave one final shove to the genlock that in death still seemed to be clinging.  He then turned and moved alongside her as they both retreated together.  Though still not even close to one hundred percent with his leg, and Kayt exhibiting her abilities with quickness and agility, Fergus was able to keep pace with her.   

The sound of an Orlesian curse escaping Kayt’s lips just before another missile went flying by him left Fergus mildly surprised as he turned.   _Do the Dalish even have curses?_ he wondered briefly and seemingly out of nowhere.  

A second or two later, Kayt was lifting her fingers to her lips, a shrill whistle piercing the air around them.  He recognized the sound from previous incidents.  Shadowhawk arrived within seconds, loping along beside them as they picked up speed.  Kayt gave the wolf some sort of hand signal then, and the animal began howling even as he still ran.  Her eyes focused away from them, Fergus reached for and captured her hand, not daring to let go of it as they struggled to find a way forward through scrub and brush and the ever increasingly tainted landscape.

Some minutes passed as they scrambled along.  The important thing, Kayt knew from experience, was to keep moving.  Keep going, even if it seemed impossible, otherwise they darkspawn could surround them, suffocate them, win.  This thought was a constant, urgent chant inside her head until the moment Kayt came to a skidding halt behind Fergus.  “What is it?” she gasped out, catching herself from bumping into him.  “We … we need to keep moving!”

“We can’t go this way,” he insisted over his shoulder.

“Fergus, we have no choice!” she protested.  “They’re right behind us!”  She shot off another couple of arrows in rapid succession behind them to prove her point.  The immediate grunts and groans of dying darkspawn were a generally accepted sound now.  

Glancing back and over his shoulder a moment later, Kayt soon realized their predicament.  They were atop a cliff that was at least twenty feet above a flowing river of water.  They would have to jump.  Shouldering her bow without question, Kayt reached around to the length of rope she always kept readily available on her pack.  Moving quickly, she tied one end around Fergus and the other around herself.  Turning to face him then, she slipped her hand into his and asked, “Ready?”

Fergus had figured out her intentions the moment she began tying the rope around his waist.  He prepared himself by securing both his sword and shield.  “As I will ever be,” he returned, his hand tightening around hers.  In one of those momentary, out of nowhere type thoughts that often appear in extreme situations, Fergus couldn’t help but wonder what his father might have thought of this particular escapade.

Eyes locking together, they took a step in unison … and jumped over the edge towards the river below.

 

~ 0 ~

 

Entry into the water, though a shock to the senses, was easy enough.  Getting back out again was another story altogether, especially when linked together as they were by the length of rope.  However, after a few moments spent splashing and thrashing about as they struggled to find some semblance of balance and control in the water, both managed to maneuver their way across to the opposite bank.  Fergus was the first to grasp hold - a large boulder embedded along the bank - and the sudden cessation of his travel downstream brought Kayt to a sharp halt in her trip as the rope between them tautened.  After a few more moments, she found the strength to slowly pull herself up on the bank before falling into an exhausted heap beside him.

Eyes focused above them as she struggled to catch her breath, Kayt noted the skies were still bright and clear.  They must have drifted far enough downstream to break free of the tainted lands.  That in itself was the first relief.  Her next thought, however, was more of a concern: they needed to find shelter to dry off first or the cold temperatures would surely freeze them.  They were lucky that they had not been in the water long enough for it to do such before they made landfall.  Finally catching her breath enough, Kayt inhaled deeply before pushing herself to her feet.  She offered Fergus a hand to do the same for him and only then began leading him away from the riverbank.  

Their journey paused only once along the way; as she had earlier, Kayt lifted fingers to her lips and blew, the sharp whistle filling the air once again.  After that, they traveled in silence.  But unlike other times he had witnessed Kayt calling Shadowhawk to her side, the wolf did not appear.  Fergus kept his silence for now, but had to wonder if she felt concern.

Their travel halted some time later when Kayt spotted a decent sized indentation along another line of cliffs and led the way.  Along the way they gathered what wood they could find for fire and as soon as they entered the depressed area, Kayt began building one.  

Fergus pulled his dagger from its sheath and to work on the waterlogged rope that still bound them together at their waists.  “I hope you don’t need this for anything else?” he asked after realizing there would be no other recourse but to slice it with the blade.  The knots were too tight and swollen with water to come undone under his fumbling and near frozen fingers.

Kayt glanced over as a flame caught hold, wavering as it struggled to hold.  “Save as much of it as you can,” she returned quietly.  “Obviously, it will have to be cut.”

Slicing the rope around his waist, Fergus managed to break it free at which point he handed both blade and the excess rope towards her.  As she took it and sat back from the now growing flame, he set his sword and shield aside.  For the moment, they were safe enough.

Kayt soon followed suit, her bow and blades leaning against the wall behind her but within easy reach should they be needed.  From there, she began removing her armor, laying it out to dry as best it could.  Fergus reluctantly removed his own.  The ranger, he noted, did not appear to be embarrassed at having to undress before him, but Fergus recalled her mentioning to him before that she was used to traveling alone.   _Except for the wolf._  He glanced quickly towards the opening to the small cave, but there was no sign of the animal as yet.  However, Kayt still seemed unconcerned so he did not bring up the subject.

Turning back, Fergus tried not to openly stare as she moved, but to be honest, he was finding it difficult.  He knew her skills as a ranger and in battle to be exceptional - he had seen enough evidence of that on his own - and she had a quick mind and wit to match.  But what was catching him now was more of a physical reaction.  She moved with a natural beauty and grace - evident both in battle and out - and now, as she rose her arms over her head to remove the soaking chemise she wore beneath her armor, he caught sight of toned muscles and sinew sliding in a fluid dance beneath sun-kissed honey-colored skin.  

Fergus swallowed tightly, turning his gaze away and forcing himself to focus on his own situation.  He felt heat at his neck, creeping up along his cheeks and hoped that she did not see it in the dim light of their enclosure.  Somehow, for some reason he could not explain and in that moment, her presence had him feeling more like a boy in his teens than a responsible and honorable teryn.  Sure, the ease and grace with which she moved caught him like the sharp point of a practice blade in his ribs and left him with the the fleeting wish that he could do the same.  Not for the first time since the injuries he sustained at Ostagar, Fergus found wished he was whole and hale once again.  But this time, even as the thought occurred to him, he realized it had less to do with either of their abilities to fight in battle and more to do simply with the woman before him.

It was also the first time since being told of the events at Highever, of the fate of Oriana and Oren, that Fergus allowed his thoughts to travel away from them, viewing Kayt as something more than just a traveling companion.  

Kayt rose, moving over to settle herself on the ground beside Fergus while he finished removing his own drenched clothing.  It startled him for a moment, particularly given the direction of his thoughts just moments before.  A shiver tremored across his shoulders and recognition that the need for warmth outweighed anything else just then, however, and his attention quickly retreated back to the present.  Lowering himself carefully to the beside her, they both sat before the fire clad only in their small clothes, and the wait for their things to dry began.

“Your leg,” Kayt observed a moment later, her voice sharpening in concern as the muscles in his leg began visibly seizing, “it pains you?”

Fergus rubbed the area around his upper thigh with his hands, attempting to soothe the still healing flesh and muscle.  “Sometimes,” he ground out between gritting teeth and tightly shut eyes.  Of late, the ache often took on a particular sharpness with the cold.  Today’s adventures had done nothing to keep that at bay, sadly.  

His eyes shot open when he felt strong, knowledgeable hands on his leg.  They brushed his aside as they began to knead and massage the still healing area, easing the aches as they worked.  “Kayt -!”

Her head tilted, green eyes lifting to meet his, her long auburn braid spilling over her shoulder as she turned to kneel beside him and find a better angle to work.  “Relax, Fergus,” she murmured.  “I know what I am doing.”

He blinked back surprise, taking a deep breath and preparing to contradict her when the full extent of her touch settled over him - the battlefield ache was receding.  He breathed in sharply, his eyes falling to watch as her hands continued - gentle, but firm as they worked.  “H-how …?” he breathed, curiosity at the extent of her skill now getting the better of him.

Her lips curved into a soft smile.  Urging him to lie backwards, she altered the angle of his leg yet again as she continued her ministrations.  “My guardian was a Dalish,” she reminded him.  He nodded.  “He knew some simple, everyday healing ways that he passed along to me.”  Still somewhat shocked at this unexpected turn of events, it took Fergus a few more moments before he realized that she had finished and was gently setting his leg back to the ground.  “Better?”

Using his elbows to push himself back into a seated position, Fergus nodded, feeling dazed and more than a little off balance.  “Yes.”

She laughed softly, her smile reaching her eyes and making the jade there sparkle in the firelight.  “You sound surprised.”

She sat back beside him, but her eyes did not leave his.  “I am,” he admitted after a long moment.  “I didn’t expect … No, that’s not quite right.”  Sighing, he lifted a hand to run through his hair.  “Thank you,” he finally tried again.  “Your efforts did help and certainly better than my usual untrained efforts.”

He watched her head dip slowly in acknowledgement, her eyes turning back towards the fire then to stare at the dancing flames.  In that one moment, Fergus felt something flutter inside of him.  Again.  Reaching out, he rested a hand at her shoulder, squeezing lightly.  She turned, a question causing one brow to lift and arch, but otherwise she remained silent.  Fergus stared into her eyes, searching them as if seeking answers to his own questions as well as hers.  

He never would be certain who moved first.  He saw her lips part, noting her chest rising slightly as she inhaled deeply.  Her cheeks pinkened slightly as she flushed, but when her eyes rose and met his he saw nothing but confidence and assurance behind them.  From one moment to the next, his hand was rising from her shoulder to her cheek, gently urging her to turn, guiding her lips to meet his.  Time suddenly seemed to speed up once again a moment later as the touch of hands and lips became more frantic, and the sound of harsh breaths mixing with desperate sighs filled the air around them.   

 

~ 0 ~

 

Reluctance was not part of Kayt’s nature.  Hesitance could get one killed in daily life, let alone battle.  Caution, however, she understood.  Recognizing when to take things a bit more careful or slow a response in reaction to certain conditions, and though there was a hint that it might be a necessary element just then, she could admit to herself that she had no desire to refuse him.  Need was something else she understood, and when combined with the residual adrenaline from battle and relief at escaping certain death, it made a certain amount of sense.  And where he was concerned, Kayt could admit, if only to herself, an ever growing interest from the moment they had first met.  But that said, she did not wish to take advantage.  She knew all too well that Fergus was still recovering from injuries sustained in previous battles; from personal losses so great, that Kayt could only admire how he had found the will and desire to move forward with his life when many in similar circumstances would simply give up.  

Smiling and sighing softly against his lips, Kayt molded her frame against his as his hands dropped to her sides, urging her closer.  Countering his actions with her own, the game of give and take between them intensified.  And, while her actions were more driven by instinct than actual practice, she did not let that hold her back.  When he rolled onto his back, urging her to follow, she did, allowing his hands to guide her atop him.  Kayt had sense enough to realize this was likely an uncomfortable position for him given the ache in his leg, but when she pulled back and began to move to his side, his arm tightened around her waist to stop her.

Her voice rough, she managed, “I … I do not wish to hurt you further, Fergus.”

He startled her by tightening his arm further, pressing her shoulders close in a movement that caused her braid fall over her shoulder to dangle between them, the ends tickling his cheek.  Kayt’s eyes met his, catching the intensity of his gaze, but also noticing his lips curving upwards just a bit.  “Trust me,” he replied, his own voice hoarse, “when I assure you that you are not.”

Acquiescing, she leaned forward to close the remaining distance between them.  A short while later, only after she heard him groan in pain, did she insist, but even as she did she made certain to remain close.  Eyes meeting his again, she smiled as his hand rose to caress her cheek.  Without a sound she turned her cheek into his palm for a moment, pressing a light kiss to it and then shifting again, urging him to follow along.  He allowed her to guide him until they both lay on their sides facing one another.  

The knowledge that he was more experienced than she was a given.  He had been married for some years where Kayt had not.  Kayt was not certain if that actively heightened her anticipation of what was to come.  What she did recognize was that each caress of his hands against her bare skin left her gasping for air with lungs that felt they could not draw in enough; a heat licking through her body that could match the nearby flames; and if nothing else, leaving her craving more of the same.  Her focus intent upon him, his touch, the gasps and groans escaping his lips and mingling with those from her own, she did not notice when their smallclothes disappeared, all barriers between them gone.  All she knew was that she did not want him to stop.

 

~ 0 ~

 

Fergus trailed his lips along her collarbone and neck, nipping and kissing a path even as his hands wandered lower, touching her more intimately.  The breathy gasps and whimpers he heard slipping past her lips were more than enough reassurance she was enjoying this as much as he.  “Kayt?”

Her eyes were dark, the mossy green forming the barest ring around pupils that were blown wide.  Caressing her deeply, he heard her gasp again, watched her eyes close and her body arch against his.  He felt the low and rumbling moan deep inside of her that followed vibrating through him.  Gently, he kept the motion going, a smile pulling at his lips as her body tightened around his fingers.  Her hands grasped his shoulders, nails gaining purchase in muscles there but Fergus did not mind.  Instead, he chose to trail lower, his lips securing themselves around her breast.

“Fer - Fergus!”

Rolling her gently onto her back, Fergus followed until his body hovered over hers, the light from the fire mixing with the shadows as it flickered around them.  Taut and tense as her bowstring when fully drawn, she remained so as he carefully withdrew his hand and moved over her.  “Tell me,” he pleaded, lowering himself close until all that remained was for him to slip inside.  “Kayt, I need to hear you say it -”

“Now!”

Her whimper was a plea begging for fulfillment and Fergus was not about to deny either of them.  Moving slowly, rocking gently, he carefully united them.  Bracing himself on his forearms, one to either side of her, Fergus pressed a long and thorough kiss to her lips.  He gave her time to adjust, holding still and fast as he could even as he felt her move against him.  Her legs lifted, hooking around his waist, and her arms slid around his shoulders.  Feeling the urge to do _some_ thing, he lifted one hand, trailing it along her slender waist,  moving it up her abdomen until it closed around the fullness of one breast.  The sound she made in return left him smiling at its sweetness.

As close as they were, he could feel soft shudders work their way through her body at his touch.  His lips and teeth grazed gently against the skin of her neck, eliciting more shivers in response.  After a particularly strong quake trembled through her, Fergus could no longer hold back a groan.  Maker’s breath, she was driving him insane!  

“Fergus!”  Her voice held that breathy plea again, reaching deep inside of him and grasping firm hold.  “Please!”

His eyes sought hers first, staring down for one long moment and losing himself in the green depths of hers.  Only then did he begin to move, gently rocking his hips against hers.  Slowly, yet with great purpose, he increased his pace.  And with each thrust, he watched her face, savoring the reactions as they flickered there.  Her eyes widened.  Her breath caught sharply.  Her legs tightened around his waist as her hips moved strongly against his own.  Her voice took on a new depth, a rumbling vibration of approval, desire and something more that he could not name as it washed through him and compelled him forward.  He ignored the pain in his leg - it was easy to do when focused on her - and instead lost himself in her eyes, her body, her embrace.

 

~ 0 ~

 

It took very little time for their rhythm to synchronize; gentle motions pulling them both together but with a depth and force Kayt had never experienced.  Clear, emphatic, erotically exuberant sounds continued to trail from her lips, begging for more, and in his eyes she found reassurance that he was enjoying this as much as she.  The first hints that completion was just around the corner began to creep up Kayt’s spine moments later.  Throwing her head back, her torso arching towards his, she cried out as release overtook her, held her in place, and then gently guided her back to earth.  She could not help it.  The sense of completion just then was unlike any she had ever felt before and it was so overwhelming she could not contain herself.  But it was the look of satisfaction on his face, the sound of his own groans escaping past his lips in response, that reassured her all was well … and then some.

 

~0~

 

Following the path she led, Fergus eventually shifted his weight so as not to crush her, remaining in her embrace, but pulling her along with him.  Wrapping his arms around her, he held her close and allowed himself to drift.

He must have slept for a while, though whether it was a few moments or longer, he could not tell.  Kayt was still beside him when his eyes opened again.  She was curled into him, his arms still secure around her, and for that he was thankful.  A momentary panic, one that wanted to taunt him and his memories, flared and burned out all in the same moment before it could catch hold.  Relief overcoming him, his arm tightened around her, holding her closer.   

But even as he calmed, acknowledging the moment for what it was, he found himself considering just what exactly it was he was feeling in that moment.  Neither he nor Kayt had planned this, he knew that well enough.  He could not speak for her attentions, but from the little he knew of her, who by choice lived a mostly nomadic sort of lifestyle, she did not appear to be one requiring something more … permanent.  But that said, it led his thoughts down that unexpected path just then.  For, when the Blight was all over, assuming he survived it, he would be expected to return to Highever, to take up the reins of Teyrn in his father’s place.   _To marry and provide an heir to be the next teyrn …._

Fergus winced.  A part of him firmly believed it was too soon to consider this.  They had to win first.  To remove Howe from Highever, to defeat the Blight, to bring Ferelden back to a time of relative safety and security.  Then there was the fact that to even think of moving on in his life so soon after having lost his wife and child just felt … wrong.  It wasn’t fair to the memories of Oriana and Oren, was it?  Should he not be mourning for them longer?  

Guilt was a burdensome companion, it seemed.

But on the other hand, a part of him could not help but feel as if by doing just that would be pushing away a golden opportunity.  Sure, he and Kayt had only just begun to get to know one another, and most of what they _did_ know revolved around their parents’ pasts, but still … there was a connection there that had been almost from the beginning.  Something drawing them together … eventually - inevitably? - leading to this.  Did Kayt feel the same?  Was it wrong to feel that, in some ways, it felt as if there was more between them than what had been between him and Oriana when they first married …?

So deep in thought was he that Fergus did not feel Kayt shift against him, lifting herself to look down at him.  Only when she ran a hand along the shape of his cheek did his attention turn fully to her.  He blinked rapidly for a moment, intent to school his thoughts, to hide any concerns so she would not notice the inner turmoil, but he realized he was not quick enough when a look of sympathy and understanding settled there.   _Those eyes,_ he mused silently as he stared up into the green depths.   _I look into those eyes and I can see ….._

Leaning in, Kayt pressed her lips against Fergus’ lightly.  “Mourning is a part of living,” she murmured gently.  “You will have good days and you will have bad days.  You can allow yourself to wallow in self pity, or you can find a way to continue and pay tribute to what those who have passed gave to you during your time together.”

Fergus stared at her for a long moment.  “I fear I do them an injustice -”

Kayt moved the tips of her fingers to cover his lips and halt that thought.  “Fergus, you have lost a great deal, it is true,” she agreed.  “I know of very few who would be able to move forward with life as you have after such betrayal.  However, do not forget that you have indeed begun that process.”  A smile turned at the corners of her lips.  “You are fighting back.  You have friends, family even to help you along the way.  Tell me truly, do you think your wife and son would want you to focus only on them, on what you missed out by losing them?  Or, would they want you to move forward, live your life as it was meant to be lived?”

Fergus slid his fingers into her hair, his hand providing gentle pressure to the back of her head until her forehead lowered to rest against his briefly.  “How can someone so young be so wise?” he murmured, his voice just a bit raspy.  

Kayt chuckled.  “I am older than you, I think,” she teased back.

It was enough to pull him from the more depressed path his thoughts wished to follow just then.  Blinking back momentary confusion, he thought back to the stories his parents told him over the years, of the timing of meeting Marianne, of when she must have had Kayt, of the events that occurred afterwards.  He had barely been conceived when Marianne died, according to his mother, and Kayt admitted previously that she was a very small child at the time ….  

Kayt smiled when she noted the glint of understanding that suddenly leapt into his eyes.  She thought to tease him just a little since it seemed to be helping him through his current dilemma, but before she could do so, he surprised her by rolling them both, landing with her on her back and he leaning over her.  Chuckling softly, she lifted her eyes to his just in time to see him swoop in close, his lips finding hers before leading her into passion once again.

 

~0~

 

They departed the cave once Kayt was certain the last embers of the fire were out.  She scanned the area beyond as she moved beside Fergus, giving him an encouraging smile.  “Shall we go find the others then?” she asked softly before turning to whistle for Shadowhawk once more.

For a long moment, Fergus could only stare down at her, focused on her green eyes and drowning in them when she turned back to face him.  A moment later, he snapped himself out of it, reaching for her hand and squeezing gently.  In a move attesting to his training as a noble, he lifted it to his lips and brushed the knuckles with a whisper of a kiss.  “Lead on, _ma petite,_ ” he replied with his own smile and a soft chuckle to match.  

Her smile widened into a grin and Fergus knew then he had chosen the nickname well.  And little she was, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder.  But in other ways, she was more than strong enough to assist him through depths and trials he knew he had to face.  He found himself reaching for hope - hope that she might decide to stick around for a long while and remain a steadying presence he was rapidly coming to respect and possibly more ....

 


	74. The Rock and a Hard Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long delay in updating this and my other stories. Real Life reared its ugly head about a year ago and has not let up which has made it very difficult to focus on the things that used to be my way of escaping. One thing after another after another (I won't bore you with details); participating in NANO last November, too; the holidays always eat up time that could be used elsewhere; and then the same sort of thing continued into the new year, etc. I am hoping I've turned the corner now and that I can get back to posting on a more regular basis, assuming the muses cooperate with their ideas!

  


The inevitable turn towards winter came after their stay in Honnleath.  Brief though it was, the stop provided Bryallyn and her companions with additional challenges … but in the end some benefits, as well.  Although, if she were completely honest with herself, Bryallyn remained uncertain after all was said and done if her ‘extreme irritation’ with the demon-infested cat (Alistair, Wynne and even Morrigan had felt it necessary to approach her post battle to be certain that Bryallyn was alright) was due more to her pregnancy or simply a reaction to the audacity and gall of the demon itself.  Whatever the case, Bryallyn managed to solve the puzzle and out maneuver the demon.  This victory ensured that both Amalia and their new companion had been saved.  

Bryallyn spared a quick glance over at the golem, Shale.   _These certainly are interesting times_ , Bryallyn thought.   _But then again, I will gladly accept any and all willing to lend aid to our cause._  An intriguing companion to say the least, it hadn’t taken too long to discover one sure way through the golem’s somewhat surly nature.  Once discovering Shale’s fondness for the various gemstones Bryallyn had gathered so far during their journey, she willingly handed them over in return for being referred to as ‘it’ and ‘squishy.’  She certainly had no use for them, and Shale found them to be quite … agreeable.

With Honnleath now well behind them (and the story of Wilhelm taken to heart), the group was finally nearing their destination at Rainesfere.  Bann Teagan, when last they had seen him in Rainesfere, urged Bryallyn and Alistair to head there if ever they needed help.  Bryallyn paused at the top of a rise, leaning heavily against the staff she now used as a walking stick.  As her eyes surveyed the path leading below, one hand pulled her cloak tighter, caressing the swell of her belly beneath.  She knew full well if ever they needed help, it was now.  By Wynne’s estimation, Bryallyn’s time should come within the next couple of weeks.  The safety and security offered by the Bann would certainly be preferable to a camp out in the middle of nowhere.

Bryallyn remained the top of the hill, stretching her aching back and holding firmly to the staff as the others passed by, continuing down the path.  Zevran was first, having taken the lead with Bryallyn so that they might scout the way.  Constant, too, was not too far behind.  Bryallyn shook her head in bemusement.  Her hound had taken a liking to most of their companions in some way or another, but all did not necessarily appreciate the animal’s attentions.  However, the elf assassin did not seem to mind Constant’s canine company, and they continued to lead the way.

The next group to pass consisted of Wynne, Sten, Shale and Morrigan.  Bryallyn did not miss the concerned eyebrow the elder mage sent her way, but the young ranger simply smiled and shook her head.   _No, not yet_ , she promised silently.  Wynne nodded and kept moving.  Morrigan, too, passed by in silence, much to Bryallyn’s relief.  She was thankful for Morrigan and her mother’s timely rescue and treatment of both herself and Alistair at Ostagar, but their continued association, which could only be described as acerbic at best, had Bryallyn wondering just why it was that Morrigan remained.  That she wanted something from them had been clear enough from the very beginning with the intensity of Flemeth’s insistence that Morrigan join their expedition.  Though Bryallyn would be the first to admit her interactions with and knowledge of mages was limited, there were certain things she could not help but pick up on, Morrigan’s motivations included.  If nothing else, it left her undecided and that was not something which Bryallyn was used to.

Alistair and Leliana brought up the rear of the group, reaching the peak together if in companionable silence.  Both seemed startled to find Bryallyn seemingly waiting for them, and this turned immediately to concern which was evident upon their faces.

“Are you alright?” Alistair asked while moving quickly to her side.  His movements appeared awkward, jerky almost, as if he was searching for what the problem might be and how he might best offer aid.  

Bryallyn shared a quick, slightly amused look with Leliana whose concern faded even before Bryallyn spoke.  “I am fine, Alistair,” Bryallyn assured him.  She could find a bit extra patience for him given their current set of circumstances, especially since she realized that it probably stemmed from his own personal fears of ending up the only remaining Grey Warden should something happen to her.  Had he not warned her from the beginning that having him in charge was not such a good thing?  Bryallyn had laughed at his humor at the time, but she recognized far more behind the words.  She hoped that she could help him find the confidence he needed to leave those worries behind him once and for all.  She recognized leadership potential in him, the opportunity for personal growth.  Lessons from her own past - from Aldous and her father, even her older brother and mother - had taught her what it was to be a leader.  Now, to Bryallyn’s way of thinking, if anyone had the makings to be one - be it Warden or, Maker guide them, possibly king - Bryallyn believed that Alistair did.  

There were times, especially of late, when Bryallyn wondered if her fellow Warden had given any thought to what might happen once she delivered her child into this world.  Their mission must continue, child or no, but there would be a time when Bryallyn would not be able to lead them.  Someone else among them would have to, and seeing as he was the only other Warden ....    

However, for the moment Alistair offered her his arm to lean upon as they descended the hill and Bryallyn wearily accepted it while allowing other more weighty concerns to be pushed aside.  The time for decisions would come, and she had no doubts that it would be a challenge, but this was neither the time nor place to deal with it.  Instead, she accepted his offer of assistance, something all of their companions had insisted upon more and more of late.  Bryallyn had resisted at first - she was a Cousland born and bred to lead her soldiers by example, and she _was_ a Warden - but a few gentle words of practicality as reminder from Wynne set aside further protest from Bryallyn.  Tightening her hold so that she would not fall lest her booted foot slip in the snow, Bryallyn nodded her readiness and she, Alistair and Leliana followed down the hill to the manor below.

 

~ n ~

 

Their arrival in Rainesfere was greeted quickly and Bryallyn and her companions were granted entrance into the manor and out of the cold.  While they took time to remove their weather gear, Bryallyn and Alistair spoke with the seneschal.  “We are here to see Bann Teagan,” Bryallyn explained.

Seneschal Thomas nodded.  “The bann left word that you might arrive unexpectedly.  Though Bann Teagan is not here at present, he is expected back at any time.”  With a quick glance at Bryallyn’s swollen belly, he added, “Would you and your friends like to wait in the great hall, my lady?  I will have refreshment brought immediately and it will be warm and comfortable ...”

Bryallyn nodded.  “That will be acceptable,” she told him, offering a smile of thanks.  With a look up at Alistair, he nodded and began herding the others after the seneschal.  Wynne remained behind, however, moving to Bryallyn’s side.  Bryallyn, leaning heavily on her staff for just a moment, moved a hand to her back, her brow rising in question at the mage.  

“You must rest,” Wynne observed softly.

Bryallyn sighed but nodded.  “Soon,” she promised.  “I must first speak with Teagan when he arrives -”

Wynne placed a hand at Bryallyn’s shoulder and gripped it firmly.  “You will go into that hall, Bryallyn, you will sit down and eat a bit and then you will rest,” the healer insisted.  “If it becomes necessary, Alistair and I will speak to Bann Teagan on your behalf.”

Bryallyn couldn’t help but protest.  “Wynne -”

But Wynne shook her head.  “Child, trust me when I tell you this.  You do neither yourself nor your child any favors with your stubbornness.”

Bryallyn snorted, a sound that evolved into a deep chuckle a moment later.  “Yet again, you remind me of my mother, Wynne,” she murmured.  And somewhat surprisingly, where pain might have once enveloped those words, Bryallyn could now say them and mean them as the compliment they were intended to be.

Wynne looped her arm through Bryallyn’s and began leading her slowly after the others.  “That is something for which I can truthfully say I am grateful.”

 

~ n ~

 

Bann Teagan’s arrival found Bryallyn ensconced comfortably in a chair beside a cozy fire in his library.  “Rainesfere has always been a friend to Highever,” he greeted her warmly, repeating his words from back in Redcliffe before her departure months before.  Waving her to remain seated, he pulled another chair beside hers and seated himself.  “Thank the Maker you listened to my good sense and have arrived safely!  I have no wish to explain to your brother someday why I allowed you to continue such adventures in your current condition.”

She felt hope stir beneath her breast at his words.  “Have you some word of my brother’s fate then?” she asked hopefully.

The brief flash of pain that passed behind his eyes gave her his answer before his words.  “Alas, I do not,” he admitted.  “I am sorry if I raised your hopes too much.”  Sighing, he shook his head.  “But honestly, Bryallyn, can you imagine if I have to face Fergus at some point and explain to him why I allowed you to go traipsing across the bannorn while heavy with child when I had the power to stop you?” he countered a moment later.

Bryallyn rolled her eyes.  “Teagan,” she chided gently, but her smile was fond and there was the fact that she was chuckling to take any sting out of it.  Setting her book aside, she straightened in the chair and turned to face him.

“In all seriousness, though, how have you fared, Bry?” he asked in all seriousness.  He leaned forward, arms resting against his knees as he examined her closely for clues.  “By all appearances you seem well enough ….”

Bryallyn acknowledged his question by canting her head to the side.  “It hasn’t been easy,” she admitted, “I will grant you that, but we have been fortunate.  And slowly, we are gaining allies.”  She took a few minutes to brief him over the events of the past few months.  When she finally wound down, she shifted in her chair yet again, grimacing as an ache spread through her lower back.  She saw his eyes narrow, his concern grow, but she shook her head.  “It is nothing that isn’t expected,” she assured him.  “Wynne has explained to me just how to tell when I should become concerned.”

Teagan sat in silence for a long moment before nodding.  “Well, I am glad you decided to take me up on my offer,” he told her.  “My home, my bannorn, is at your disposal.  Whatever you require.”

That had Bryallyn bursting into laughter.  “You obviously have not been introduced to our newer companions yet,” she teased, grinning over at him.  She could not help but wonder just how he would react to her Antivan Crow or her new golem.  Extending her hand, she watched him rise before offering her assistance to her feet.  “I should probably introduce you myself, else you think me making up fantastical tales or children’s stories!”  Besides, she wanted to witness his reactions for herself.

 

~ n ~

 

The days passed in relative comfort for the group.  Assured by Bann Teagan of their safety while on his lands, they spent much of their time focusing on practical things.  They took advantage of his training yard, and on more than one occasion Bryallyn observed several of her companions sparring with one another or sharing the secrets to their skills.  Additionally, they utilized Teagan’s blacksmith to their advantage.  Fixing what they could, replacing what they had to, they made certain armor and arms were repaired to fighting condition.

While the days were spent with practicalities, the evenings were an altogether different atmosphere.  Plenty of food and drink were made available, and with story and song, Bryallyn and her companions were able to find a semblance of relaxation in order to recharge mind, body and soul.  The only ‘rule’, if there was one at all, was that all talk revolved around stories from the past.  No discussion of politics or Blight were allowed.  If awkward at first, it eventually evolved into a much needed and welcomed distraction for them all.

 

~ n ~

 

Bryallyn knew the pain of battle wounds.  That moment of bewildering numbness followed by a sharp, stabbing and tearing pain that sliced through skin and muscle.  Followed closely by the halting hitch of breath as the cry of agony was forcefully pulled from lungs unequipped to give full life to the sound.  It kept the victim off balance, unable to find equilibrium, only able to rely upon primal instinct to survive.

In the distance, Bryallyn heard such screams echoing and recognized that such a battle was currently being fought.  Through the delay caused by haze of pain, she eventually recognized that it was a battle being lost … a battle _she_ was losing.  Unable to catch a breath and with no way to fight back against the darkness stalking the edge of her consciousness, instinct was guiding her.  Never before had she felt this alone.  This unprepared.  

“Nathaniel …!”  His name was half prayer half plea as her arm flew out to her side, searching, reaching for him, but finding only air ....

 

~ n ~

 

Alistair sat beside Bryallyn, grasping the flailing arm and holding it safely while Leliana and Morrigan both brought supplies and Wynne made her final preparations.  He was still confused as to how he had been brought into this whole process, and was sincerely hoping that he would not have to stay.  But for the moment, and at Wynne’s request, he held Bryallyn’s hand and offered her what strength, peace and calm he could.  She remained with her eyes closed, lost in her own pain-filled world, occasionally thrashing about.

Bryallyn groaned again, a low and frightening sound.  Alistair glanced first at her and then over at Wynne.  “Is she … will she …?”  He wasn’t quite certain what he was trying to ask, let alone how.

Wynne shook her head at him, but it did not escape Alistair’s notice that the mage offered no reassurances to him.  It did nothing to ease his mind just then.

 

~ n ~

 

Nathaniel Howe bolted up from his bedroll, having heard his name so agonizingly torn from the lips of his wife.  His breathing ragged, his thoughts a turmoil, it was the momentary pulsing flash of the ring on his finger that caught his attention and set him on his next path.  Closing his eyes, he lay back down, desperately trying to recapture the thread of what it was that had woken him ....

_“Nathaniel ...!”_

_The cry caught his attention immediately, the voice tearing through his heart and yet giving him something to trace.  A path to follow.  He knew it to be her instantly.  His wife.  His love.  His life._

_“Bry?  Bryallyn, where are you?  I’m here - are you alright?”  The words were instinct, borne of necessity as he fought through the morass that were the current construct of his dreams.  There was no sense of time or place and she was not within his line of vision.  All he knew to be truth was that she was in pain and calling out to him for aid._

_“Nathaniel ... help me!”_

_Panic crept ever closer, inch by inch, causing the hairs on the back of his neck and his arms to stand on end.  “Bry, my love, where are you?  I will help, but I must know where you are!”  Maker, why did it have to be so bloody difficult to find her this time?  Though their visits had been rare to this point, at least in past he had been able to SEE her!  This time it was as if some sort of a wall was set between them._

_Her cries continued, most of them wordless screams of pain that led him to levels of frustration and anger he had never before reached in his life, and that was saying much.  “Nathaniel, please!  It … it hurts!”_

_At a loss how to respond to her, he shouted, “I am holding you, Bryallyn!  I am with you!”  All the while, he continued his press, clawing and tearing his way in what he hoped was towards her._

_“Nathaniel!”_

_He could almost feel the sharpness of her pain himself now.  A growing, tearing ache that took hold of him, pulling him deeper into its grasp.  He did his best to ignore it, to continue forward._

_His hands, his arms, his legs battled forward out of habit, but his head took a different path.  Piecing together what he knew, forming what he knew to be truth in that moment, a long, loud and rumbling growl was torn from his chest.  Maker help him, only one logical explanation came to mind that could be causing her such pain ….  Terror  battled to escape his chest, his hands still desperately searching for the boundaries of the miasma encasing him.  He would not lose her!  “Bryallyn!”_

 

~ n ~

 

Nathaniel’s eyes shot open, his heart thumping wildly inside his chest, the almost physical pain at being separated from the hunt for his wife so suddenly and almost violently eating away at him.  Gasping for breath, he collapsed backwards, dropping heavily against his bedroll inside his tent.  Just before being torn from the Fade or wherever it was he’d been, Nathaniel had caught the briefest of glimpses: Bryallyn’s face contorted in severe pain as she thrashed about.  Though completely baffled by what had just happened, he could only come to one conclusion: Bryallyn and presumably her traveling companions, had been captured and were being tortured by those who held them prisoner.  Nathaniel knew of only two men in all of Ferelden, aside from those within his own party, who were actively searching for her.  Narrowing his choices accordingly, his list was reduced to two men … both of whom were located in Denerim by all accounts.

Nathaniel squinted suddenly then as a brightness entered his tent with the drawing of the flap.  “Nate?  I heard you cry out.  Is all well?”

He sighed but managed a rough reply.  He was a bit surprised that his voice sounded as if he had been yelling for quite some time.  “Yes, Rhyan.”  The brightness dimmed somewhat as his second entered the tent and the flap closed behind her.  

A moment later, he felt her placing a bowl in his hands. “Dinner,” she told him softly, “such as it is.  When you are done, Fergus wishes to speak with you.  He said something about wanting to discuss our next destination?”

Nathaniel sat up and took a bite of the stew.  Grim determination settled over him and he nodded at Rhyan’s words.  “Aye,” he replied, “and I have an idea of my own as well.”

 

~ n ~

 

Her return to the present this time was different from the others, except perhaps that time in Flemeth’s hut.  Time drifted by, but but more easily now than before and at the very heart of it she knew there was some peace at last.

Of the time spent away, there was no real measure.  The pain from before was now gone, save that of wishing to be with her husband once more.  That was a pain she wondered if she would never be rid of.  Even, Maker willing, if they found one another again, would she fully be able to trust that he was there after all that they’d been through?  

Her worries returning as consciousness slowly filtered back, in the end it was the sound of absolute quiet that finally broke through and thrust her forward.  It was not natural for there to be so little sound for so long ….

Opening her eyes was the wrong move she discovered a moment later, resulting in a soft groan of pain and a sharp turn the other direction.  She heard fabric rustling nearby, likely the brush of a skirt against the edge of the bed or table, most likely.  Bryallyn frowned, eyes still closed.   _Bright daylight and I am still abed?_ she thought.   _What …._ Realization and clarity collided and Bryallyn bolted upright out of concern.

“Relax, child.  All is well.”

Bryallyn ignored the aches and pains pulsing through her and instead turned towards the voice.  “Wynne?”  Her voice was a mere rasp, more evidence to the truth behind the previous night’s events.  

Her eyes, now adjusting to the light, fell upon the smiling mage seated in a nearby chair, a swaddled bundle in her arms.  Rising, Wynne leaned over and settled the infant onto the bed next to Bryallyn.  “You did well, my dear,” she said quietly so as not to disturb the babe.  “Both you and your son will be fit as a fiddle in no time.”

Bryallyn swallowed past a lump in her throat.  Ignoring the tears that began trickling down her cheeks, she carefully rolled onto her side so she could have a better view.  “Sweet Andraste!” she whispered, fingers rising to touch him, tracing along his little nose and lips, feeling the solidity of the form beneath.  “He … I …”

The mattress gave slightly as Wynne sat beside them.  “It was not an easy birth,” she announced, her eyes searching Bryallyn’s face for a moment, “and I nearly thought I’d lost you at one point.”

Bryallyn used her hand to wipe away the tears, nodding her understanding.  “Wynne …”

“However, if there is one thing of which I am certain,” the mage continued, a smile now slowly spreading across her features, “it is that you Couslands are made of hearty fighting stock fit for any life challenge thrown your way.”

Bryallyn could no more stop the onset of a new flood of tears than she could find a way to stop time from passing.  “Thank you,” she rasped after a moment, her hand sliding over to squeeze the mage’s.  “You … from the beginning, you have given me so much ….”

Wynne shook her head.  “No, my dear, in the long run this wasn’t much at all.   _YOU_ are the one who is giving us all a chance.  This was the very least I could do to assist.”

A small whimper brought both women’s attention back to the bundled babe as he slowly woke and began to fuss.  Chuckling softly, Wynne assisted Bryallyn into a seated position, propping her back with a pile of pillows.  “And now the _REAL_ challenge begins!” she teased before scooping the child up and setting him in his mother’s arms.  

 


	75. Proof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your interest, your comments and your support for this story! I’m doing my best to keep the impetus going (next chapter is partly written already!), and I’m hoping I can get it out in the next week or two. This one just seemed to flow once I started it though and I didn’t want to wait with it.  
> As always, thank you to my intrepid beta, Erynnar, without whom this story would be riddled with plot holes!

The decision to continue on to Gwaren first was logical.  After all, despite the travel over land and away from the direct path to Denerim offered by the Imperial Highway, both Nathaniel and Fergus agreed that they could not just march up to the capital city and risk being identified by any of Loghain’s men or, worse, Howe’s.  With that in mind, it was decided that they would continue with the original plan to go to Gwaren where no one knew them despite it being the heart of Loghain’s teyrnir.  There they could more easily blend in with the populace.  A sizable port, Gwaren would no doubt offer many possibilities for passage to Denerim via ship where they could ‘sneak’ into the capital under (hopefully) less attentive eyes.  The trip to Gwaren over land would take considerable time, skirting them just south of the Brecilian Forest, but another advantage to taking a ship north to Denerim would be that they could make up the time spent on that leg of the journey.  All in all, both Nathaniel and Fergus agreed it was a sound plan.

So, overland they went.  Days became weeks as their journey took them east of the Imperial Highway.  Across the Southron Hills and eventually through the Brecilian Passage until finally delivering them into Gwaren lands.  Though not fraught with danger, observations during their journey made it clear that the Blight was indeed spreading north.  Some areas fared better than others, but most of the lands through which they traveled after crossing the Passage showed clear indications that the devastation brought by the darkspawn had arrived.  

What they found upon their arrival in the city itself, however, was the most startling, to say the least.  Gwaren, comparable to Highever in size Fergus assured them, and the center of Loghain’s teyrnir now lay abandoned.  Completely empty.  No signs of any inhabitants or ships.  What evidence they found indicated that those who had once inhabited the city had left in a hurry, as if chased out of town or fleeing for their lives.  It did not take much to see why, and brought back memories of their recent encounter out in the Bannorn but on a much grander scale.

Though direct and lasting evidence of the taint was not as strong as it had been in Ostagar or even in the Bannorn north of Lothering, it was clear that the darkspawn had made their way through the surrounding area, ravaging the city in its wake.  If the evidence before them was accurate, most inhabitants had fled before having to face the oncoming horde.  Maker be praised for small miracles.

“But … how could the darkspawn have traveled this way so quickly?” Rhyan asked in bewilderment.  “And in such numbers?  I thought most of them were heading north from Lothering out into the Bannorn, not spreading eastward?”

Trinion nodded his agreement.  “And we saw no indication that they had come this way until we were through the Passage,” he mused.

“The Deep Roads,” Fergus explained, lessons from his youth and stories dating back to visits when he was younger returning with ease.  “Ages ago, the dwarves had an outpost in the Deep Roads beneath Gwaren.  During the Second Blight, the darkspawn cut off access to the outpost and it was abandoned.  Afterwards, other groups laid claim to the lands until eventually it ended up in the hands of one of the teyrns of Ferelden.”  Sighing, he scanned the area.  “The Deep Roads access might have been blocked in the past, but I doubt it would take much for the darkspawn to find a way through now.  Not with their growing numbers,” he added.  

Nathaniel nodded absently, continuing to lead the way through the town.  He paused here and there, but for the most part the evidence was displayed open and clear before them.  The market district spoke clearly that it had been open at the time of it’s abandonment: remnants of trading stalls were still standing, though they had decayed in the months since and now were more reminiscent of skeletal remains than places to do business.  A few still sported scraps of decorative silks and banners, the identification marks all but gone, but for the most part it looked as the land around it did - tattered, torn, abandoned to its fate.  

Turning towards his right, Nathaniel followed the road south of the market for a block or two.  All the while, he and his companions were buffeted by gusts of wind heavy with the scent of salt and sea air tinged with rot and decay.  The docks, Nathaniel recalled, would be to the left up ahead.

But before he could turn in that direction, Fergus reached out and caught his arm.  “Look,” he murmured, nodding straight ahead to the courtyard that opened before them.  

Frowning, Nathaniel’s eyes followed the direction Fergus indicated, all the while wondering what it was that had caught his brother’s attention.  From what he could see, nothing appeared out of the ordinary save the lack of people and the signs of devastation they already noted.

The sudden cawing of a bird split the air around them.  A dozen or more heads turned, finding the creature crouched upon the open gate ahead of them. Several of their party were startled enough to jump, but it was their newest companion who put them at ease a moment later.  Moving quietly and calmly, Kayt stepped ahead of the rest of the group.  Watching closely, they were able to observe her in her element; her hand moved slowly, soundlessly, as did her lips, almost as if she were communicating with the animal.  It took Nathaniel a long moment to realize what he was seeing, but not Fergus.  When a frowning Trinion took a step forward, Fergus’ arm shot out to block his way.  “Let her be,” he ordered quickly, hoping the interruption would not disturb her efforts.  “Remember, she is a ranger.”

“What is she doing?” Grayson asked, his tone indicating curiosity more than anything else.  

“Communicating.”

Some minutes passed in silence save the bird and Kayt.  When finally satisfied, the ranger gave the animal a deep, respectful nod as it took flight.  A moment later, she turned to rejoin the others.  

“This place has been abandoned for some time,” she announced, walking up to them.  “Exactly how long, I cannot say, but it has been several days at the very least, but most likely much longer.”

“You got that kind of information from a bird?” Rhyan asked.  There was obvious disbelief in her tone.   

Kayt’s smile was neutral.  She knew good and well many did not understand the life and skills of a ranger.  “Over the years, I have learned to read the land and communicate with the animals that live in it,” she explained.  “The threat of danger here passed some time ago - days, weeks, maybe more.  There is no way to determine an accurate date.  Those who were here before then left first; the darkspawn followed soon after.”  She paused for a moment as the wind caught the freed edge of a torn banner on a nearby building causing it to flutter and flap loudly for a moment before coming to a standstill once again just as quickly.  “As for the animals themselves,” she continued, “most have fled the area.  Like the people before them, only those who could depart with haste were fortunate.  Those that could not are now among the tainted.”

Nathaniel’s brows narrowed, concern for their safety heightening.  “Is there a danger we will run into that threat now?”

Kayt shook her head immediately.  “Not at the moment,” she assured him.  Her eyes traveled to the sky in the direction the bird had taken flight.  “I will know more after my friend returns from scouting out the area.”

“What do we do then?” Rhyan asked.  “With the city abandoned, we have no ships to take us to Denerim.”

“What are the chances we could find supplies and equipment inside the teyrn’s estate?” Trinion suggested.  “Or at least a means of fixing our own?”

Fergus caught Nathaniel’s eye and nodded once.  “Fine by me,” he said.

Nathaniel nodded his agreement.  “Avoid anything that could be tainted,” he warned then turned and led the way across the courtyard and through the gates.

 

~ n ~

 

With a watch set outside and the others investigating the barracks and other sections of the castle, Fergus opted for a different destination.

“Where are you going?”

A wry grin pulled at Fergus’ lips.  Glancing over his shoulder, he responded bluntly, “To find out if there is any record of your father and Loghain being aware of each others’ plans.”

Nathaniel scowled, a scoffing sort of snort escaping, but he said nothing otherwise.  In fact, contrary to his verbal response, he nodded his agreement and fell into step beside his brother.  While he doubted very much that anything suggesting a link between the two older men would remain, it was not an opportunity they could afford to ignore.  “Do you know where …?”

The chuckle was dry and humorless.  “If there was any benefit from having to visit periodically over the years,” Fergus replied, “it was that I became quite familiar with the layout of the castle.”

The room, once they arrived, was dark.  Fergus moved quickly to throw open shutters, allowing what little sunshine was available inside.  Hazy light filled with dust motes zigging and zagging in confused patterns still made it easier to see.

“What a mess.”

Nathaniel’s observation came from the center of the room where he turned slowly in a circle.  On the east wall was the fireplace, above it a large portrait of a middling aged woman and a young woman next to her, neither of whom Nathaniel recognized.  To the right and slightly below the mantel’s edge hung a shield with the arms of Gwaren.  To the left, approximately the same position, all that remained were empty hooks, the only evidence that any weapons had once been there.  And in the belly of the fire pit itself ….

Fergus was searching the scattered remains atop the desk when he heard Nathaniel grunt softly.  Glancing across the room, he found his friend crouched low, something in his hands.  “Did you find something?” he asked.  He began opening desk drawers next, pulling them out and upending them onto the desk surface.

“I’m not sure,” Nathaniel replied.  He leaned forward towards the fireplace.

Fergus thought to join him … until something caught his eye.  A seal, broken long before now and only half remaining, landed in front of him.  It looked to be the top half of the seal, and on it ….  “Nate,” he breathed, retrieving the folded missive and opening it so he could read, “you will want to see this I think.”

Rising to his feet, Nathaniel remained where he was for a moment longer before turning to cross the room.  “I cannot make sense of this,” he acknowledged, handing the pages he had rescued from the fireplace, partially burned, towards Fergus.  “I think this is written in Tevinter, but I have no real foundation in the language ….”

Fergus waited for Nathaniel to look up at him before he handed over the letter.  He said nothing else, but then he didn’t really need to.  When their eyes met, he saw Nathaniel’s darken in concern, recognizing the distress plaguing Fergus, how incredibly wan he features were just then.  “What is it?”

Fergus swallowed hard and pushed the letter towards Nathaniel.  “Read,” was all he could manage.  A moment later, he turned and walked to the doorway, opening it in search of air fresher than what was currently inside the room.

_…. the current situation and forthcoming events notwithstanding, my troops are ready.  Timing will be the key.  If all goes well, your plans for Ostagar should be made a little easier.  If I may also say, I admire your ingenuity where Arl Eamon is concerned …._

Nathaniel felt the blood inside his body suddenly chill.  Darting upwards, he noted that this message had been written from Amaranthine just before his father and family would have left for Highever for his and Bryallyn’s wedding.  Eyes dropping to read the rest of the message, Nathaniel fought back shock.  By this point, after all he had been through since the attacks had taken place, he would have thought that nothing could shock him anymore ….

 

~ n ~

 

Kayt strode through the castle with purpose.  While not a part of the watch directly, she had kept her activities out of doors so that when her avian companion returned she would be accessible.  The creature’s return brought a mixture of news.  It was this news that now guided her to find Fergus and Nathaniel, pausing only once when coming upon Trinion to inform him so that the word could spread to the others.  They would need to leave soon.

Ears attuned to every sound around her, it did not take long for Kayt to catch the deep tones of their voices echoing through the halls.  She heard agitation, maybe even anger, but for all of that they did not appear to be having a disagreement.  When she finally pinpointed their location, she found them standing in the center of an office.  Quietly, she entered and moved over to join them.

“Does it make any sense to you?” Nathaniel asked.  

Fergus shifted through the pages, eyes scanning the words.  “I can understand enough of it to know that it isn’t anything good,” Fergus muttered.  He nodded absently at the movement to his right, acknowledging Kayt’s arrival but not giving her his full attention just yet.  “My father could read this,” he explained.  “He made certain both Bry and I were given some basic knowledge during our youth.”  Shuffling to the last page, he placed it on top and pointed at the signature line.  There was evidence that a wax seal had once been present, but it had melted away and all that remained were the colored stains against parchment.  “Whoever this Caladrius is, he is indicating that he is in full agreement with Loghain’s plan and will arrive in Denerim to ‘assist with the removal of the elves.’  When that arrival is to take place,” he added, “I cannot tell you because that part is burned off.”

“What exactly is his plan?”  

Fergus scowled.  “That part is missing as well,” he explained.  “I caught some reference to healers for blight sickness in the alienage.”  He looked between Kayt and Nathaniel, suppressing a shudder and briefly considering the implications.  “Maker’s breath, those are thoughts of nightmares.”  So many people living in crowded conditions of squalor and an illness with a high mortality rate ….  Someday, Maker willing he took Highever back, it would be the type of thing he would be concerned with as teyrn.  

“Wait.”  Kayt’s softly spoken interruption had both men turning towards her.  “You said this Tevinter was coming to ‘assist with the removal of the elves,’ yes?”

Fergus glanced down at the pages once more.  “I believe that is the translation, yes.”

“That makes no sense.  Why remove them from the city if they have blight sickness?” she countered.  “Would that not just risk spreading the illness across all of Thedas?”  

Nathaniel nodded absently.  Contrary to its name, blight sickness was not specific to the blight.  Over the years, there were the occasional outbreaks, usually in the south near the areas where darkspawn tended to venture forth even in times of relative peace.  Standard procedure in dealing with the sickness was to isolate the individual.  If a mage healer could not cure them, or if one was not available to try, it usually led to the death of the one who had taken ill … either by the illness itself or by someone else’s hand.  “Something does not add up,” Nathaniel agreed.

“Agreed.”  Fergus glanced over at Kayt once more.  “Did you need something?” he asked, wondering at her sudden arrival.

Kayt nodded.  “We need to leave,” she told them both.  “While the darkspawn horde itself is not returning, there are groups of tainted creatures that roam across this area.  They will be here by morning.”

Nathaniel grunted softly.  Taking the pages from Fergus, he crossed the room and added them with some others he had already tucked into his pack.  Shouldering the bag, he turned towards the others and nodded towards the door.  “We should get moving then.”  

 

~ n ~

 

Their original plan now out of the question, the group retraced their steps, though in a slightly more north and westerly fashion than their route in had taken them, back towards the Imperial Highway.  The first evening, they made camp briefly, just long enough to rest for a while and take a meal.  Afterwards, they continued on, hoping to put a good distance between themselves and any of the tainted animals that were in the area.  Only on the fourth night did Nathaniel feel safe enough in establishing a full camp once again.

That same evening, Fergus went in search of Kayt and found her inside the tent they had taken to sharing together.  Ducking inside, he saw her calmly, methodically going through her belongings as she repacked her bags.  Her eyes did not meet his immediately, and he took a seat nearby, waiting patiently even though he felt his chest tighten as he watched her motions.

“I will find you again when I return.”

He jumped slightly at the soft and unexpected sound of her voice just then.  How had she known what he was thinking?  Of course, after their conversation back at Gwaren, it did not take much to figure out what path her thoughts must have gone.  It seemed from the missive to Loghain that Caladrius was specifically after the city elves of the capital city, but elves, be they from the city or the ever roaming Dalish, were targets for many, and the reputation of Tevinter was well known throughout Thedas.  Besides, given what Kayt had told him of her guardian and his disappearance, it was a logical assumption that she would find this a lead worth investigating.

The fact that she would do it alone, however, did not ease his mind.  Moving over to kneel beside her, Fergus lifted a hand to settle upon her shoulder.  “You should not do this alone,” he said quietly.

Kayt paused in her preparations and sat back so she could look up at him.  Lifting one of her hands to caress his cheek lightly, she offered him a gentle smile.  “I have to do this,” she told him quietly.  “If they have taken him, I must know.  Fergus, you know of my pledge.”

Fergus nodded, leaning slightly into her palm for a moment.  It did not make it any easier to accept.  “Kayt ….”  His voice cracked a bit, so he swallowed before trying again.  As he did so, he saw her hand lower to settle over his, giving him a reassuring squeeze.  After all that had happened in the past year or so, he felt terror haunting him once again.  The idea that he had come to care about her so quickly warred with the realization that he could lose her just as easily as he had Oriana and Oren, only this time he would never even know it.

Kayt leaned in to press her lips lightly to his.  “I swear to you, Fergus, I _will_ find you again,” she promised quietly.  Then, catching his eyes with her own, she added, “There is something you should know.  I am, in some ways, very like my mother.  In others, I am not.”

Fergus blinked.  What in all the void did that mean?  “Kayt,” he protested, “your mother -”

“Was a wonderful woman. A master archer.  A Fereldan patriot.”  She offered him another smile.  “My mother selected her causes with great care.  She also understood when duty came before all else.”  Reaching into her pack, she pulled out a book and reverently set it into Fergus’ hands.  “This is her journal, Fergus.  Read it if you wish,” a twinkle in her eyes then teased, “ _if_ your Orlesian will take you that far!  But, above all else, keep it as my promise that I will return.  This book is all I have left of her.”  The look she now gave him was somber.  “And I will return for it if for no other reason than I intend to pass it along one day to my own children.”

Fergus’ eyes darted to hers.  It was something they had not yet discussed - of course, he realized belatedly, their _relationship_ was something that they had not yet discussed in detail.  But … _children?_   _She wanted them?_ It was a good sign - a sign of hope perhaps? - but would she consider ….

Reaching for her pack, Kayt exited first with Fergus following behind.  By the time he was rising to his feet outside of the tent, she had her pack strapped to her back, her blades sheathed at her waist, and her bow in hand.  One soft whistle brought Shadowhawk loping through the camp and slowing to a halt beside her.  Leaning in towards Fergus again, Kayt brushed her lips against his in one last, lingering kiss.  “I will find you again, my lord,” she promised with a small, private smile.  “You and I still have some unfinished business to attend.”  And with that, she turned and left.  She was beyond the edge of the camp and out of sight before Fergus could even react to her words, but even if she had not been, he was not entirely certain he knew how to respond.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A point to note: The idea below of Gwaren being abandoned by its people and by Loghain was not of my own making. I fully intended to have people around with whom they could interact. I came across this on the DA Wiki and after some hesitation, I realized I could still make my original idea work (with some adjustment) but incorporate the ‘canon’ interpretation of events in Gwaren.


	76. The Road to Orzammar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, huge thanks to my beta Erynnar for her assistance!

 

She wanted him to lead.  

Alistair’s thoughts were as scattered and jumpy as the few falling snowflakes scattering on the wind outside the window just then.  Had she not _listened_ to him when he told her what inevitably happened when he was asked to lead?  Why he was willingly following her instead even though he was the senior Warden?  Did she not _understand_ that bad things happened when he was put in charge ...?

“Alistair,” Bry assured him softly so as not to disrupt the child sleeping in her arms, “you can do this.”

“No,” he insisted, moving to pace back and forth before the fireplace, the deeply furrowed edges of a frown creasing his features and making him look much more severe rather than usual, witty self.  “I really can’t.  Bryallyn, I told you -”

“You told me what happened _before_ ,” she emphasized.  Slowly, carefully, she rose to her feet and turned to lay the child in the cradle nearby, tucking a warm blanket around him.  Alistair’s eyes were drawn to the movement and he could not help the small smile that seeing this brought.  It was strange, witnessing, participating in something so utterly _normal_ when the world around them continued to descend into madness.  He could feel the stirrings of something else as well.  Determination, surprisingly enough.  An urgency to end the Blight so that Bryallyn’s child, and other innocents around Ferelden - throughout _all_ of Thedas, he mentally corrected himself - could have long, full lives without fear of the darkspawn or archdemon.

Bryallyn crossed to his side, but Alistair did not notice until her hand came to rest upon his arm.  Startled, his gaze shifted, his eyes meeting hers.  He had no doubt she could see the terror lurking deep within … and if that was the case, _why_ was she being so adamant that he do this?  “We need the dwarves,” she reminded him gently.  “We need to have as many allies on our side for the upcoming battle as we can.  You know this, Alistair.”

He nodded.  “I know, I know.  But -”

She cut his protests off quickly.  Firmly.  “I cannot travel right now, you know this too,” she continued.  “It is unfortunate that we have no other Wardens on whom we can rely to present the treaties, yes.”  Alistair winced, but no other outward sign of distress followed.  Perhaps that old adage about time healing all wounds _was_ true?  “I’m sorry, but it must be you who goes in my stead.”  

“And what if I fail?” he countered, baring his greatest fear for her ears alone.  It was one thing to have to listen to Morrigan berate him all the time - she, he could manage, mostly by ignoring her.  But to fail in his capacity as a Warden?  Utterly and completely?  That would be something that would destroy him from within.  What if he couldn’t be the Warden Duncan always said he could be?  That he wanted to be?  What if …?

“Alistair.”  Bryallyn’s smile was warm, gentle and full of confidence.  She moved her hands to brace both his shoulders.  Her grip was firm and, he noted, her strength quite considerable still despite having just given birth, and Alistair wondered at how she kept it all so well hidden beneath the surface.  To look at her, he would think she was … well, a warrior, perhaps, even if she did favor archery over standard weaponry, but she also looked … helpless?  No, that wasn’t right.  He wasn’t quite sure how to describe it, but whatever it was, and despite it, he did know that she exuded a quiet calm, a confidence he could see, practically feel when he was near her in battle.  It held them all together, sustained them through to the end.  And now she was wanting him to try and do the same ….  

“My friend, it is time you see for yourself just what you are capable of achieving.”

Sighing, Alistair glanced away.  “You are so much better at this,” he rumbled.  “You know how to talk to people, to convince them to join our cause ….”

Bryallyn’s smile widened.  “You have the treaties,” she reminded him.  “They will be the deciding factor.  If you need diplomacy, you will have Leliana with you to guide you.  If you need blades, you have yourself and Sten.  Shale too, for that matter, and you have Zevran for stealth.  They are a good team.  A loyal one.  Lead them, Alistair, and they _will_ follow.”

“And Morrigan?”

Bryallyn smirked.  “She has some healing capabilities,” she offered optimistically.  Both knew that in lieu of Wynne, who would be remaining at Rainesfere with Bryallyn and the child, Morrigan would have to suffice on this venture.  “Trust in them.  Believe in them,” she suggested.  “But more importantly, believe in yourself.  Is that not what Leliana has been trying to teach you of late?”

Alistair’s cheeks darkened a bit.  “I … I suppose,” he agreed.  

“Then you have nothing to fear … so long as you do not fear yourself.”

 

~ n ~

 

His gear was ready to go which meant that Alistair could spend the remaining time he had before their departure wandering around Teagan’s estate.  This was his first visit to Rainesfere, and Alistair had to admit that he could see his ‘uncle’s’ influence quite easily.  The atmosphere here was so different from that at Redcliffe, and it certainly reinforced Alistair’s general opinion that Teagan was a good man, taking excellent care of his lands and his people even in times of great distress.  He certainly had done Bryallyn a good turn, allowing her a safe haven in which to have her child and recover afterwards.  And if he was completely honest with himself, Alistair could admit that from the earliest he recalled meeting Teagan, Alistair had hoped he could in some small ways at least, emulate the man.  Good.  Fair.  Kind.  

It was as he walked across the courtyard, his eyes drawn by one of the knights Teagan had in his service.  Alistair had met her early on during their stay - Abigail, he recalled - and when he and his companions spent time in the training  yard, they had welcomed her among them.  She favored a longsword and shield, and though by her own admittance just recently entered into her knighthood, Alistair had seen the obvious skill and talent she had when facing off against her opponents.  

Today, she was working on her gear in the yard, sitting off to one side as the squires trained nearby.  Though her focus was on her task, Alistair could tell by the way she was sitting that her ears were attuned to the sounds around her … which was why he was not surprised in the least when she did not jump as a youngster - a page, perhaps? - came barrelling up behind her, only daring to shout his arrival (and rather loudly at that!) at the very last moment.  Alistair’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his chest as he thought to shout a warning, but he needn’t have worried.  Abigail, clearly aware of the lad’s arrival, slid down the long edge of the bench and out of the way even as the child opened his mouth.  Her moves were quick and efficient - she even managed to toe her shield out of the way before the child toppled over the seat of the bench and onto it - and in the end, she was leaning over to grasp the child by the waist of his britches and yank him back to his feet before he could sustain serious injury.  

“Marcus.”

The child, now steady on his feet, looked horrified even though Abigail’s voice was not raised in anger or reflective of any sort of emotion, Alistair noted.  “Y-yes …?”

“Sneak attack?”

Alistair remained off the edge of the conversation, but he kept his eyes upon the pair.  

The towheaded child nodded hesitantly, eyes still wide.  

Abigail’s hands rested upon the lad’s shoulders as she turned him to face her, her current chores momentarily set aside.  Giving the boy a long, considering look, she asked, “Was this Ser Mikal’s idea?”

The child shook his head.  “No, s-ser,” he stammered, “it was Ser Ryan’s.”

Though he was not near, Alistair thought he could still see Abigail’s eyes roll.  Chuckling softly, Alistair suspected that this Ser Ryan was about to discover that turnabout was fair play.  

Abigail’s stern gaze softened just a bit.  “Presumably, he promised to train you as a rogue when you were older in return for …?”

This time, the child was enthusiastic with his response.  Nodding vigorously, he replied, “Yes.  If I could sneak up on you and surprise you, he said he would train me to be the sneakiest dual wielding rogue ever!”

“Hmm.”  

Alistair heard footsteps nearby and turned, not surprised to find Leliana approaching.  Ah, but for an extra day or two in Rainesfere, he could possibly have arranged for Marcus to learn from Leliana instead.

“What -?”

Alistair raised a hand to silence her question and, thankfully, she acquiesced.  Pointing across the yard, he updated her on what she had missed, concluding just as Abigail told the boy, “You would do better with Ser Mikal as your mentor.”

The boy blinked owlishly up at her.  “I - I would?”

Abigail nodded.  “Show me your arms,” she requested.  The boy pushed up his sleeve and did so.  Reaching out, she pressed gently against the small musculature there.  “Now, this,” she explained, “can be used for blades or for a bow.”

Marcus nodded.  “Ser Colin says I am quite good with a dagger,” he assured her.

“Hmm.  I have no doubt that you are,” she agreed, “but anyone can use blades.  It takes someone with a very special talent to be deadly accurate with a bow.”

Alistair saw the boy’s eyes widen and heard Leliana giggle softly beside him.  A quick glance and he saw her nodding, a sparkle of mischief in her eyes.  

“It … it does?”

Abigail nodded.  “And if I am reading this,” she squeezed the muscle in his arm again, “correctly, I see the signs of someone who has that sort of talent.”

“You … you do?”

Alistair had to bite back a laugh at the boy’s reaction and, he noted, so did Abigail.  She nodded again.  “Indeed I do.”

Marcus blinked thoughtfully.  “Well … Ser Roland did say I had some skill with the bow.”

Abigail’s lips curved upwards.  “From what I heard Ser Roland say,” she countered, “it was more than just ‘some skill.’”

Alistair thought the boy’s eyes might pop out of his skull given how wide they’d become.  “He said that?!”

“On my honor,” Abigail promised.  “Why don’t you go ask him, if you don’t believe me.”

“I … I believe you,” he swore.

Abigail finally smiled.  “Now, you do know that to become one of the best in all of Ferelden you should practice every day, don’t you?”

The child’s face turned bright red for a moment, but he remained silent.  “Someone has not been practicing as he should!” Leliana whispered near Alistair’s ear.  Alistair chuckled quietly and nodded his agreement.

The boy’s eyes darted across the yard towards the area set aside for archers, then quickly back to Abigail.  “I … should probably go.”

Abigail raised a brow in mock surprise.  “Already?”

The boy began nodding vigorously.  “I need to … to practice!”

As Marcus ran off, it finally occurred to Alistair that not only had Abigail redirected the child’s energies to actual training, but, he suspected, she had permanently altered his desired specialization.  Which, he finally realized, would also keep him from attempting to sneak up on unsuspecting people.  Shaking his head and still chuckling, he turned towards Leliana.

“Ser Roland is a good archer,” she announced as they headed towards the manor together.  

“You know him?” he asked.  That didn’t surprise him.  Much.

Leliana giggled softly again.  “I met him the other day.  We had a brief discussion regarding how few knights focused on archery as their area of expertise.  I suspect, whether or not Ser Abigail was correct in her observations, that Ser Roland will welcome the boy and, perhaps, owe her a favor or two in return.”

Alistair chuckled, shaking his head.  “There could have been an ulterior motive,” he pointed out.  “The boy _did_ try to sneak up on Ser Abigail.”

Leliana flashed him a grin.  “I saw.  The fact that she was able to notice so easily probably saved the boy from future despair in that department!”

 

~n~

 

They gathered together in the guest wing one last time for a final briefing with Bryallyn and to say their goodbyes.  After some discussion and calculation, it was determined that the journey would take at the very least three months, depending on weather and on how long it might take to convince the dwarves to honor the treaty.  Bryallyn wished each of them luck, following them to the outer gates to wave goodbye after them as they departed.  After the others headed off one by one, Bryallyn was not surprised to see that Alistair remained behind just a moment longer.

Looking up at him, Bryallyn gave him her most confident smile.  “You can do this, Alistair.”

He sighed, hand rubbing at the back of his neck, but he nodded.  “I will do my best,” he acknowledged.

Bryallyn chuckled softly.  “I know you will, my friend.  Why else do you think I would trust you with such an important mission?”

He blinked, looking almost startled by her words.  “I … Because I’m the only other Warden available?”

Bryallyn’s smile faded a bit and she shook her head sadly.  “No, Alistair.  I could have sent Leliana as my representative, let her speak on the Wardens’ behalf.  But I chose to send you, instead.  Your being a Warden helps, of course,” she explained, “but honestly?  I chose you because of you.  Your personality.  Your strength of character.  Your ability as a fighter.  All of the things that should speak to the dwarves in addition to presenting the treaty.  They will be convinced because you _believe_ in the cause.  Because you will convince them to believe as well.”  The sadness left her features and her smile returned.  “Duncan was right to put his trust in you,” she added.  “I may be leading our little band, but you have been shouldering much of the responsibility as well.  How often do we sit together after a day of battle and debrief?  Discuss possible options, outcomes?  Plan our next move?   _Together_.  You may think you made me leader, but you have gradually been taking on more responsibility.  It is time for you to take the lead.  Believe me when I tell you that.”

He straightened, shoulders rolling back as he stood a bit taller, his bearing more confident than he had ever displayed before.  They both glanced in the direction the others had taken, most of whom were now topping the rise some distance away.  “Go on,” Bryallyn told him.  “I will be here when you get back.”

Alistair nodded, his eyes meeting hers for one last moment.  “I won’t fail you,” he promised.

Bryallyn shook her head.  “Don’t fail yourself,” she corrected.  “The rest will fall into place as it should.”

His lips curved upwards and he nodded again in understanding before he turned to follow after the others.  Somewhere in his memories, he recalled an old saying he once overheard one of the Chantry sisters telling someone else.   _A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step …._ *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Lao Tzu


	77. Dareth'asha

Footsteps, rapid with urgency, nearly soundless against the path.  Barely more than a rustle of wind through the branches above that surrounded the clearing … and yet, she heard them.  Straightening, Delilah turned.

“ _Dareth’asha!_ ”  The voice was a rasp, breathy.  “I have news.”

Delilah reached an arm towards the Dalish scout, Shaessa, and guided her towards the nearest empty building: the dining hut.  “First catch your breath, Shaessa,” she urged.  Along the way, she waved a hand towards Galen who nodded in understanding.  

Leading the way inside, Delilah motioned for the elf to sit while she moved towards the counters where food and drink were kept.  Retrieving a cup and a pitcher of water, she returned to the table and poured some for Shaessa.  “ _Ma serannas_ ,” the elf managed, taking several small sips, one after another.

As Delilah took a seat herself, additional footsteps entered and she looked over to see Galen walking towards them followed by two warriors.  “Ah, good,” she greeted them.  Turning back to Shaessa, she continued, “When you are ready, what did you find?”

Taking a deep breath, the elf glanced over at the others.  Recognition of the faces helped calm her, Delilah saw.  Since Shaessa and her brother, Taerian, had joined the group, there had been some unease between them and the humans, but with each passing day, with every shared experience, it appeared to be easing.

“Taerian and I headed south as you ordered,” she explained.  “We were a day and a half towards Denerim when we spotted a large group of soldiers heading north.”

Delilah bit her lip, her concern at this announcement evident.  “Under whose banner?” she asked, though she suspected she could guess.

Shaessa’s eyes met Delilah’s.  “ _Dirthamen_ ’s favored,” she spat.  At Delilah’s confused expression, Shaessa offered a wry smile and clarified, “The great bear.”

Delilah sat back, eyes drifting to Galen first, then Tomil and Sanderson.  ‘The great bear.’  One of the ways the Dalish referred to her father.  It was his troops moving into the arling.  That could mean one of several things, none of which, by Delilah’s way of thinking, was good.

“ _Dareth’asha_ ,” Shaessa whispered, “what is your command?”

Over the past months, as the numbers of their little band had grown, it had become necessary to implement some sort of hierarchy to see that things ran smoothly.  Galen, the first to have joined with Delilah and Ceila, had taken on a role something akin to that of a seneschal.  He was no trained warrior, but he had showed a quick wit and was of great help in organizing those who joined along the way.  Delilah had come to rely upon him more and more as their numbers increased.  Raiding parties, construction bands, whatever it was that was needed, Galen found a way to make it happen.

At the same time, it was impossible to hide the fact that their expansion continued.  Along with that, their mission took firmer shape and rumors started to circulate.  There was no way to avoid that, either.  When their targets became less random and began taking on a specific type, the rumors grew and spread like wildfire, eventually reaching beyond the borders of the arling.  One of the first to respond to such rumors was their neighbor, Waking Sea.  Tomil’s arrival came accompanied by a note with a single seal upon it: that of Bann Alfstanna Eremon.  Though concerned that the nobility might know her identity, and the potential for her father to find out and do Maker only knew what to stop her, Tomili assured Delilah that while her group was known to exist, it was only in the vaguest of terms.  Bann Alfstanna’s seal was to be taken as her specific endorsement of the efforts of _Wending’s Wild_ , as they were becoming known outside of Amaranthine.  The bann had personally asked Tomil to find the leader of the _Wild_ and to offer his services - he was an expert bowman, one of the Waking Sea’s best.  Given her lack of training in any martial skill and desperate for any such guidance, Delilah agreed to accept the offer.  Someday, she would thank Bann Alfstanna in person.

Sanderson joined some weeks afterwards.  A younger man from a nearby settlement within the boundaries of the arling, he was one of the few troops who had had made it to Ostagar, fought during the first wave of the attack, and escaped almost certain death in the aftermath.  Though suffering minor injuries, he managed to survive a trek north to his home.  During this trip, he heard the truth of what happened at Ostagar.  Led to believe the rumors of the Grey Wardens being responsible for the king’s death, Sanderson later admitted that he’d thought to head to Denerim, to join up and help the Crown in their efforts.  But that was before he found out about the press gangs being sent out to conscript anyone they came upon into service as soldiers and their bullying and violent methods of doing so.  When they reached his village and he became witness in person to their tactics, he quickly changed his mind and fled the area.  The idea to side with the _Wild_ only came after traveling through the city of Amaranthine and hearing about them in the taverns, but what he heard made him determined to join them and offer his skills.  Delilah and the rest had accepted him easily and promoted him alongside Tomil as a sort of military advisor and tactician.

“Did you get an idea of their destination?” Sanderson now asked Shaessa.

Shaessa shook her head.  “Taerian sent me to bring you the news immediately, _dareth’asha_ ,” she said, looking over at Delilah, though her words were for all.  “In case we need to move the camp quickly, he said.”

Delilah groaned at that thought, her eyes drifting over to meet Galen’s.  There were too many people living with them now to move easily and no safe place for them to go.  Some scouting had been done over previous months, but this was the best location in the Wending Woods for their purposes.  And, if they were to leave the Woods, they would all immediately become targets.  “We will stay,” she announced quietly.    

Shaessa nodded.  “The last I saw they were heading north,” she added, “but they were still a day away.  Taerian was tracking them further.  He will come when he knows more.”

“Do we send more of our own after them?” Galen asked.  

Delilah chewed more on her lip as she considered.  To date, they had almost two hundred people, a little more than half of whom were non-combatants.  Of the hundred or so who were able to hold and make some use of a blade or a bow, most had little to no training.  To send them out now, to attack against men Delilah knew would have much better training, weapons and armor would be to send them to certain death.  She looked over at Tomil and Sanderson for their input.  She could see both men held a hint of worry in their eyes, and when she lifted a brow in question, they shook their heads.  

Nodding firmly, to convince herself or them she wasn’t certain, Delilah replied, “We do not.  We will, however, triple the watch for the next few days, just in case they were sent up here to find us.”  

“Taerian should return by then,” Shaessa offered.

“Good.  The rest of us,” Delilah informed Tomil and Sanderson, “will train.”   _Maker knows we need it._

Galen nodded.  “I will go alert everyone,” he announced, turning to exit the hut.  

Tomil smiled.  “Time for another lesson, my lady?” he asked.

Delilah sighed, but nodded.  If she was to lead them as best she could, she could not shirk her own training, could she?  “Are you up for it?” she countered.

“Indeed,” he replied, and Delilah had to give him credit: for all his training, he had the patience of Andraste herself for putting up with her and her fumbling attempts at learning a skill from absolutely nothing.  Perhaps she should have listened to Bryallyn and Nathaniel all those months ago when they all but begged her to take up the bow.

 

~ n ~

 

Within camp (really at this point given the number of people residing there it could be called a ‘village’ but Delilah hesitated at giving it that sort of permanency), the call of alarm was, necessarily, blended in with their surroundings as much as possible.  A shrill whistle.  A warbling howl.  The clapping of rocks together in a particular pattern.  All of it depending upon the nature of the alarm and the urgency required.

The ear piercing call of a Ferelden Red-Breasted falcon rent the evening air unexpectedly and brought Delilah through the door of her hut, lit torch in hand, before Ceila could utter a word of protest.  

_Someone was approaching camp!_

Heart beating wildly in her chest, Delilah strode quickly across the clearing.  Desperately, she sought for reassurances that her decision to keep the camp in this location had been the correct choice.  She had become leader by virtue of establishing this safe haven, not because of any particular skill in leadership.  Given her father’s estimation of her abilities during her formative years, she had many doubts still.  If this _should_ happen to be some of her father’s men having found her and the rest of them despite the precautions taken, Delilah knew their chances of survival would be slim to none.  It was enough to have her stomach somersaulting in torment.

The shadows to her right shifted, the soft padded sound of feet falling into step beside her.  “Shaessa,” Delilah breathed in relief.

“You are not alone, _Dareth’asha_ ,” Shaessa assured quietly.  

Delilah managed a quick smile, partly in thanks for the support and partly at use of the name.  Shaessa and Taerian had given her the name upon Delilah’s agreement to allow them to stay.  Insistence, really, as the two young Dalish had nowhere else to turn at that time.  “Thank you.”

Up ahead of them, the brush and scrub along the edge of the camp began to move indicating the approach of someone.  Shaessa moved a step or two ahead of Delilah, positioning her between the tree line and Delilah.  A moment later, though, they both heard a familiar if pained voice call out, “ _Dirth'ena enasalin_.”

“Taerian!”

Shaessa stepped quickly forward as her brother broke through the tree line and came into sight.  But Delilah soon realized why the alarm had been sounded.

Taerian was not alone.

Darkly hooded, the figure stood beside Taerian.  At first, Delilah thought the stranger might be holding a weapon against the elf, but as more light was brought forward by other members of their community, it became clear that the stranger was actually supporting the elf under his arm.

“Ceila!”  Delilah’s call for the healer was instinctive and immediate.  “What happened?” she asked next, her tone quieter as she stepped closer to help.

“The soldiers of _harellan_ had mabari,” Taerian announced.

Delilah blinked.  “They set them upon you?”

“No, _Dareth’asha_ ,” he replied quickly.  “I was scouting their camp, listening for what I could find out about their plans.”  His eyes closed and his head dropped in embarrassment.  “I got too close before I realized the hounds were there.  They scented me and gave chase.  I was injured in a fall.”

Ceila arrived and took a knee beside the elf, examining the bandages and the wounds beneath.  “His wounds have been tended as best I could manage,” the stranger announced, speaking for the first time.  

Ceila rose and nodded.  Murmuring to Shaessa, she instructed, “Take him to our hut.”

Moving beneath his arm, Shaessa stepped beside her brother.  As the stranger released hold and pulled back, Shaessa said, “ _Ma serranas, Falon’din._ ”

“Shaessa!” Taerian hissed.  “Is that how you would thank _fen revas_?”

“ _Fen revas_?” Delilah echoed.

Stunned, Shaessa lowered her head in shame at her hasty choice of words and murmured, “ _Ir abelas._ ”

The stranger reached a hand out, placing it gently upon Taerian’s arm before he hobbled away with the aid of his sister.  “ _Hamin, lethallin_.”  Turning, the stranger faced Delilah, though Delilah could still not make out the face beneath the hood.  “Most know me as _Le Renard Blanc_ ,” the stranger then clarified.

Delilah gasped, taking a step backwards out of habit as her hand rose to cover her mouth.  “You … you are _Le Renard_?”  

The stranger gave a short bow.  “It is true.  I was traveling north when Shadowhawk alerted me to Taerian’s predicament.”

Delilah, familiar with the legend of _Le Renard Blanc_ , glanced around for the wolf from the tales.  How many times had her mother told her of the mysterious stranger and his wolf companion who aided those needing it most when Delilah had been a little girl?

Chuckling, _Le Renard_ said, “Fear not.  He is guarding the pathway in.  He will not arrive unexpectedly.”  Nodding towards Taerian, _Le Renard_ continued, “Your friend is fortunate we happened by.  Shadowhawk was able to convince the hounds to retreat.”

“You are certain?”  This from one of the watch guards who had joined the group.

_Le Renard_ ’s head bobbed once.  “The troops were heading north.  I believe they are headed to Vigil’s Keep or to Amaranthine itself.”

Taerian nodded.  “I overheard as much before this happened,” he added.

Delilah sighed in relief.  Gesturing Shaessa to help Taerian to the hut, Delilah then stepped beside _Le Renard_.  “Thank you for your help today.”

_Le Renard_ bowed shortly again.  “I was happy to do so.”  Then more seriously, _Le Renard_ , touched Delilah’s arm and pulled her slightly aside from the rest.  “ _Dareth’asha,_ the rumors of your presence in these woods has spread to Denerim.  You are aware of this, yes?”  Delilah nodded.  “From what Taerian said during our journey here, the soldiers knew of this as well.”

Delilah bit her lip, a nervous gesture indicative of her own lack of belief in her abilities.  “I supposed it would happen sooner or later,” she admitted.  Sighing, she added, “I had hoped it would be a while yet.  I have no safe place to move these people.”

“Why move them?” _Le Renard_ asked.  “This is your home, yes?  Defend it, as you were prepared to do this evening when I arrived.”

Delilah snorted softly.  “That was not a defensive position and you know it!” she said.  “How can I defend these people and our home when I can barely lead them?”

_Le Renard_ turned, placing both hands on Delilah’s shoulders.  Still, Delilah could not see beneath the hood, but she could feel the pressure as the hands grasped tightly, then released.  “Believe in yourself, _Dareth’asha_.  Believe in them.  You may not be trained soldiers, but you have a home, a hearth that is yours.  You believe in your freedom.  You would fight to defend that, yes?  Else why would you be out here to begin with?”

Delilah opened her mouth to argue … then shut it firmly.   _Le Renard_ was right.  They were out here to fight for their freedom rather than be forced into something they did not want.  They could fight for that because it would be better to die for what they believed than live oppressed.  Right?  “I -”

_Le Renard_ chuckled softly and repeated, “Fight for what you believe.”

Delilah finally acquiesced.  “I will,” she promised.  Straightening, she rolled her shoulders back and immediately felt the difference.  She felt … stronger.  More in control.  It was a start, at least.  “Thank you.”

Another short bow.  “I must be going,” _Le Renard_ announced after a moment.

“Will you not stay?” Delilah asked.  “We have plenty of room if you wish to rest first -”

“Your offer is appreciated, _Dareth’asha_ , but I cannot.  I have a long way to travel and a friend to release from his current duties.”   _Le Renard_ lifted a hand and a moment later a shrill whistle echoed around them.  Before turning to head back the way they’d come, _Le Renard_ murmured, “The path ahead of us all is dark and filled with danger, but you will find your way.  Good luck to us all.”

Watching the hooded figure fade back into the trees, Delilah murmured, “Good luck.”  And just before turning away, she thought she caught sight of something bright in the distance.  Fireflies perhaps, but for the briefest of moments, Delilah could almost believe that they were the eyes of the wolf, Shadowhawk, and he was winking at her.  Chuckling to herself at her fanciful notions, Delilah turned and started back to her hut.  

In the distance, a lone wolf howled.  It was a reassuring sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes on some of the language I used/built: First of all, most of what I've pulled came from the Dragon Age wiki (easy, convenient source when I'm at work). What words I did not have readily available to me from the lists there, I created by combining words with similar meaning. Some of those are listed below (some of the more familiar ones, 'ma serranas' for example, I did not list here as I figured most would recognize it.  
> Dareth’asha - literally “be safe woman,” for Shaessa and Taerian it is essentially means ‘the woman who provided safety’.  
> Dirth'ena enasalin - Come not to a prideful place  
> harellan - trickster, traitor to one’s kin  
> fen revas - literally “freedom wolf,” the dalish name for Le Renard Blanc  
> ir abelas - I’m sorry  
> hamin - rest, relax


	78. On Griffon's Wings

****

After so many months on the road and uncertain as to the welcome that might or might not await at some of their destinations, their arrival at the Dragon Peak’s bannorn was both heartening and a refreshing change of pace.  

Bann Sighard met them almost immediately.  “Welcome to Dragon’s Peak, your Grace,” he announced while approaching Fergus first.  And then, more quietly, “When I heard the news of what befell Highever and later Ostagar ….”

Fergus, despite any internal wariness at the memories dredged up by the topic, took the man’s hand and greeted him warmly.  Sighard had always been a staunch supporter of Highever and the Cousland family over the years.  “I am glad I can say that the reports of my passing were greatly exaggerated,” Fergus replied with a mix of easy humor and sobriety.  “It is good to see a friendly face again.”

“Indeed,” Sighard agreed before turning towards Nathaniel and greeting him in a similar manner.  “You both are a welcome sight in such desperate times.”

“Perhaps you can update us both on current events, my lord?” Nathaniel asked.  “Seeing as we have been out of contact with civilization for so long?”

“Of course,” Sighard agreed.  “But first, we shall see about getting your people a place to rest.”  He waved over one of his servants who, after a few words of instruction, led the rest of the group away, leaving Nathaniel and Fergus with the bann.

“Sighard,” Fergus asked as they were led inside and down the hall towards the bann’s study, “I do not recall seeing Oswyn at Ostagar nor just now.  Has he fared well?”

“Oh, yes, your Grace,” Sighard replied quickly.  “He was to lead the second contingent of Dragon’s Peak soldiers to Ostagar, but news of the battle against the darkspawn and subsequent events there reached us before they departed south.”  He gestured both men inside the room.  “He should be at dinner this evening if you wish to speak with him.  I know you both were well acquainted.”

Fergus chuckled and shot Nathaniel a knowing look.  “What Sighard is trying so delicately to say is that Oswyn handed me my noble ass on a platter the last tournament we both attended.”  He grinned.  “Upended me when I least expected it and took the prize.”

Nathaniel laughed while Bann Sighard sighed.  “Ever the diplomat as was your father, your Grace,” he murmured.

Fergus’ smile widened.  “I think my father would have appreciated that comparison after so many years of hearing how I took after my mother.”

“Either way,” the bann continued quietly, “you are very fortunate to have had their guidance in your life.”

“On that point, I can wholeheartedly agree.”  Then turning the subject, Fergus asked, “What can you tell us of what has been happening since Ostagar?  We have heard bits and pieces of rumors, but I am sure you can imagine trying to form a full picture is difficult when on the run.”

Sighard sighed heavily and wearily dropped into a seat nearby.  "To put it as diplomatically as I can,” he replied after a moment, “there has been a suspicious rash of mortality among the advisors to the crown. First your father, then Urien Kendells and more recently an attempt on Eamon Guerrin ...."

Fergus and Nathaniel darted quick looks at one another.  “The Arl of Redcliffe?” Nathaniel asked.

Sighard nodded.  “From what I understand, Eamon took quite ill right around the time of  Ostagar, and rumor has it that even healing magic could not cure him.”

“But, you indicated he was still alive,” Fergus pointed out.

“He is.”

“So someone found a way.”

Sighard nodded.  “Sadly, this is all I know on the subject.  The roads are too dangerous to travel in that direction, even if my presence had been requested.  It is dangerous enough sending messages between here and Denerim.  Further south, towns and villages such as Lothering are no longer safe.”

“Mmm.  We saw as much ourselves,” Nathaniel agreed.  “Have the darkspawn reached this far north yet?”

“Not yet, thank the Maker, though it will not be long, I fear.”  Sighard leaned forward and rested his forearms on his legs as he spoke.  “We have many refugees pass through, of course.  We help them as best we can, but with being so close to Denerim, the draw of the city usually lures most away within a day or two.”

“What of ... Highever?” Fergus asked quietly after a long moment.  

Sighard sighed again.  “Rendon Howe declared himself teyrn after taking control of the castle and the town.”  The reluctance in his tone was obvious.  “More recently, he has somehow managed to pull the Arling of Denerim under his control, too.”

Muttering beneath his breath, Nathaniel bolted to his feet and began pacing the room.  “Amaranthine … Highever … Denerim ….  Where next, I wonder?” he growled, coming to a halt by the hearth and pounding his fist against the mantle.  

“There appears to be no limits to his ambitions,” Sighard agreed.  “And, I’m afraid to say, he also seems to have high placed support behind his efforts.”

Fergus could feel the pull of depression based off the Highever news and tried to keep focus on this announcement instead of spiraling downwards.  “And that would be?”

“Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir,” Sighard replied.  “Not only is he acting as the queen’s regent, but he has given your father,” he met Nathaniel’s shocked look, “his approval of his actions.”

“Approval?!”

Sighard frowned.  “Perhaps that is too strong of a word to use,” he admitted.  “What I will say is that he has not outwardly opposed Rendon at all.  If anything, he has come to rely upon him more and more these past few months.”

“But why is he Regent?” Fergus countered.  “During Cailan’s reign, Anora proved she is more than capable of running the country.”

Sighard hesitated at this point and his gaze dropped to his feet.  Neither Nathaniel nor Fergus missed such a telling reaction.  “Sighard,” Fergus implored, “what are you not telling us?”

Sighard shook his head.  “I - Your Grace, please,” he begged.  “I cannot say just now.”

“Why are you afraid?”  Nathaniel stepped closer, dropping his voice.  The change that had come over their host was like the difference between night and day as far as he was concerned.

“No.”  The bann’s voice was but a rasp.  “I cannot … my family ….”

Sighing, Fergus rose to his feet.  “We would not ask you to risk your family, Sighard,” he murmured, nodding Nathaniel over to the door.  “We can certainly find out for ourselves when we get to Denerim.”

That brought Sighard’s head up in a snap and a gasp.  “You - your Grace, it is far too dangerous for you to go there!  What if … what if he finds you?”

Fergus managed a smile and heard Nathaniel chuckle softly.  “My lord, I have been out there,” he gestured in the direction of the south and west with his arm, “for months and he has yet to get his hands upon me.  He nearly had me once, yet I slipped his noose, proving who is more skilled.  After all that I have been through, I am not about to let that man kill off the rest of the Cousland line.  I assure you, he will not touch me.”

“There are rumors that your sister survived,” Sighard added.

Both Fergus and Nathaniel nodded.  “We are aware of these rumors, but thank you.  The more we hear of it, the more hope we have.”

 

~ n ~

 

In the hours between their initial meeting and the evening meal, Nathaniel and Fergus were both shown to rooms so they could rest up and freshen up.  Nathaniel opted for a short nap in a real bed for a while, but Fergus found himself thinking.  Remembering.  And eventually … reading.  

Pulling out the journal Kayt had left with him, Fergus took a while for an exploratory read.  Orlesian was not the most comfortable of languages for him.  By rights alone, it should have been Antivan, he supposed, but even that had confounded him over the years, much to Orianna’s amusement.  Still, as he began looking through early entries, he found it easy enough to follow.  Marianne’s script was simple enough to follow, and though there were occasional words he simply could not decipher, for the most part he was able to follow along.  Pausing only to bathe and dress for dinner, by the time Nathaniel found him, he was already deep within the book.

Nathaniel opened the door and entered when Fergus called out a reply to his summons.  To say that he was surprised to find his brother lounging on the bed and reading a book, of all things, was an understatement.  “Are you not joining us for dinner?”

Fergus glanced up over the edge of the book.  “What?  Oh.”  Closing the volume, he set it aside.  

From the worn look to the cover, Nathaniel could tell it was old.  “What are you reading?” he asked when Fergus joined him.

Fergus shrugged.  “Something Kayt left me,” he explained.  

When Fergus seemed disinclined to explain further, Nathaniel let it go.  The ranger’s departure while not completely surprising had been a bit unexpected so quickly after their departure from Gwaren.  The last Nathaniel had heard, she was planning to head to Denerim with them.  And while Fergus had seemed more quiet of late, he did not appear to have retreated into the more withdrawn state of depression he had been when Nathaniel first found him in the Wilds.  

As they walked down the hall, Nathaniel smirked.  “You clean up well, brother.”

Fergus, as Nathaniel had hoped, laughed in reply.  Raising his hand to pick at the unfamiliar tailoring, he returned, “Oswyn and I are of a similar build as I recall.  I am not certain if the gift of attire was a suggestion that I might not have anything sufficient of my own -”

“You do not,” Nathaniel countered, grinning.

Fergus continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted.  “- or if it is a reminder of my ‘place’ in society.  We were rather bedraggled when we arrived, if you recall.”

Nathaniel nodded.  However, it hadn’t been anything that a long soak in a hot tub of water didn’t cure.  

“And what about you?” Fergus asked, elbowing Nate in his midsection.  “How did you come to have appropriate attire after all that has happened?”

Nathaniel sighed.  “This was what I was wearing when my ship sailed from Highever,” he replied.  Glancing down, he shook his head at the worn state of things.  “It has seen better days, I suspect.”

Fergus chuckled.  “I can imagine.  Look at you - you are coming apart at the seams!”

Frowning, Nathaniel’s gaze returned to the area Fergus referenced.  But instead of seeing the stitching coming apart, he instead found something he had not expected.  “No,” he murmured, “this is ….”  His hand dropped inside the pocket and felt something cool and metallic slide against his fingers.  Grasping it, he retrieved it, holding it up by the chain so that Fergus could see.  “Maker’s breath!”

Fergus stopped walking, turning to look at the medallion in the light.  “Where did you get this?” he asked.  “That … is that not the coat of arms of the Grey Wardens?”

Nathaniel nodded, his eyes focused on the dark blue enameled background with a white griffon etched atop it.  “But where did it come from?” he countered.  “I have never seen this before in my life!”

They were silent for a short while until Fergus snapped his fingers loudly.  “That Warden,” he said.  “The one we met at the inn alongside Lake Calenhad.  Did he give it to you?”

Nathaniel’s eyes widened.  “Riordan, you mean?”  Fergus nodded.  “No.  All we exchanged were words.  Besides, how the Void could it have gotten into my clothing?  We were in armor at the time, if you recall.”

“True,” Fergus agreed.  Tapping his finger against his chin as he stared at the medallion, still dangling from Nathaniel’s fingers, he continued, “He said something about you meeting before, did he not?  Something about -”

“Ships!”  Nathaniel’s eyes returned to the medallion and stared at it for a long moment.  “When we crossed from the Free Marches back to Ferelden, he was aboard ship with us.  I was wearing these then ….”

Catching the medallion in the palm of his hand, Nathaniel lifted it so he could look at it more closely.  “But … why?”

“Well, he admitted he was following us to protect you,” Fergus pointed out.  “Perhaps it was a reminder?”

“He said Bryallyn had become a Warden,” Nathaniel mused softly.  “Something to remind me of her?”

“I did not get the feeling the man was of a romantic nature.”

Nathaniel snorted with laughter.  “The man is Orlesian, or did you not hear his accent?” he returned.  “Of _course_ he is a romantic!”

Another few moments passed until finally Fergus asked, “What will you do with it?”

Nathaniel considered that question briefly before lifting the chain and slipping it around his neck.  “What else can I do?” he asked.  

Their arrival for dinner had, as expected, all the pomp and ceremony one might expect at a noble’s table.  Though Fergus had pleaded with Sighard to refrain, it was clear that the bann was trying to make a point.  Nathaniel chuckled amiably as Fergus sighed, but held his tongue.  He could always tease him later, if necessary.

The meal in itself was simple enough, but after so many months spent on the road and relying on traveling fare, it was a welcome and bountiful treat.  And though the company was exceptional, it soon became clear that something was out of the ordinary.

Mid-way through the second course, Fergus commented, “My lord, I thought Oswyn was joining us this evening?”

That reminder had Nathaniel glancing over at the empty seat.  Frowning, he turned his head towards the bann to notice the distressed look now suffusing his features.   _He is worried about something._

“My sincerest apologies, your Grace,” the bann demured.  “That had been my understanding as well.  However, when sent for, I was informed that my son was not in his rooms and could be found nowhere within the estate.”

Fergus looked over at Nathaniel.  “Perhaps his daily business kept him late?” Nathaniel suggested.

Fergus offered the bann a reassuring smile.  “Or perhaps he knew of my presence and opted for a meal at your local tavern,” he quipped.

“No,” the bann replied immediately, ignoring the humor within the statement.  “You are correct,” he looked over at Nathaniel, “in that he was meeting with someone today.  That much I know.  But no one seems to know where he went afterwards.”  The older man sighed.  “This is so unusual, and very unlike Oswyn.”

Fergus nodded.  “Unfortunately, we live in unusual times.”

“Have you sent someone to the tavern?” Nathaniel asked.  

Sighard shook his head.  “I sent one of the servants down a while ago, right after I was informed of his absence” he admitted, “but I have not heard back.”

“How long has it been?”

Sighard sighed.  “Too long.”

“Perhaps,” Fergus began, his eyes shifting to Nathaniel’s again, “Nate and I will go down to the tavern for a quiet visit later this evening?”

Nathaniel nodded.  “I think that sounds like a good plan,” he agreed.  Perhaps Grayson would come and be of some use as well.

 

~ n ~

 

The tavern keeper was not a particular relation to Grayson, they discovered to their dismay, but Grayson had some minor success as he secured drinks for the four of them later that evening.

“He knows my cousin in Denerim,” Grayson explained, “and was willing to go so far as to say that Bann Sighard’s son was in here this afternoon.  He was met by two unfamiliar gentlemen with whom he sat on the far side of the room and spoke in hushed whispers.”

“Unfamiliar?” Trinion echoed quietly.  “That does not sound encouraging.”

“No,” Fergus agreed.  From his position at their table, he could take in the entire common room.  

“Did he tell you anything else?” Nathaniel asked.

Grayson nodded.  “When they were finished, they left together.  Lord Oswyn did not appear distressed in any way, from what he told me.”

“Did he see where they were headed?”

Grayson shook his head.  “They departed too quickly for him to follow.  He did add that one of the serving girls overheard them discussing Ostagar.”

Fergus sighed.  “Oswyn, what have you got yourself caught up in now?” he muttered, worry tinging his tone.  

Nathaniel frowned.  “What do you mean?”

Sighing, Fergus shook his head.  “It isn’t something I can explain, really,” he said.  “In the years I have known him, Oswyn has shown exceptional skill with a weapon of his choosing.  However, his skill at subtly ferreting out information is, shall we say, lacking.”

“So … we have no leads to go on,” Nathaniel summarized, “and a bann’s son who is curious by nature but does not disguise that curiosity well.”

“Basically, yes.”

Trinion shook his head.  “If it is tied up with these ‘unfamiliar’ men he was with, I have a feeling he is no longer within the boundaries of Dragon’s Peak.”

“We are within a day’s travel of Denerim, my lords,” Grayson observed quietly.  “If indeed this is as sinister as you suggest, and if I were a member of the offending party, I would make my journey there with my captive.”

Nathaniel glanced hard over at Grayson, but Fergus simply nodded.  “It makes sense,” he agreed.

Nathaniel looked at Fergus.  “Where do you _find_ people like him?” he asked.

Fergus chuckled.  “Like Grayson, I assume you mean?”  Nathaniel nodded.  “We hire and train the best at Highever, Nate.  I thought you knew that.”

All three Highever men chuckled and Nathaniel rolled his eyes before downing the rest of his drink.  “Leave in the morning then?” he asked.  

Fergus nodded.  “I will speak to Sighard when we return.  He can have his men on the lookout around here, but we can take the search to Denerim.”

Nathaniel saw both Trinion and Grayson nod their agreement.  As plans went, it wasn’t much, but hopefully it would give Bann Sighard some hope.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you all thought I'd forgotten what Riordan slipped into Nate's pocket! ;)


	79. Why Don't You Write?

Bryallyn stood staring northward, thoughts whirling through her head like a storm off the Waking Sea.  It had been weeks since Alistair and the others had left for Orzammar.  Weeks without any word whatsoever as to what was happening.  He had promised to write when he could, to keep her updated on their progress … so if he hadn’t so far, something must have ….  

Shaking her head, she forced those thoughts away.  There had to be a logical reason for the silence.  Something … _any_ thing that made sense.

And still, her thoughts tossed and rolled through her mind.

_I never should have forced him to lead this part of the journey.  I should have paid more heed to his concerns.  I should have agreed to use some of Teagan’s men as escort, at least to Orzammar if not while they were there.  I am the one with proper training.  I should be there, with them -_

“Motherhood appears to be treating you well,” a familiar deep voice observed from behind her.  

Bryallyn recognized it immediately, of course, and managed a smile as she pushed her worries away for the moment and turned to face her host.  “I suspect that statement is not entirely as complimentary as you make it sound,” she jested, her smile tilting into a smirk.

Chuckling, Teagan moved up beside her.  “There are dangers in your observation, my lady,” he murmured, “as you well know.”

Brow arching, Bryallyn mused, “And you are not denying it, either, I see.  Hmmm.”

“I think this is where I suggest we change the topic?” he asked, looking slightly abashed.

Sighing, Bryallyn relaxed.  “Or you go fight Wynne for the attentions of my son?” she countered with a broad wink.  “Do not think I haven’t noticed how taken he has become with you and your warrior ways.”

“Never fear, my lady,” he replied, the grin from earlier returning - this was a common source of teasing between them since the child’s birth, “I will leave his formal training for you and his father to decide.”

Bryallyn chuckled this time.  “Another archer, perhaps?” she murmured.  She sighed again, releasing her earlier worries.  “Alas, he will get no blade training from me.”

Teagan frowned, turning to face her fully as her meaning sunk in.  “Bry, you still have not  -?”

Her smile turned a bit rueful.  “Nathaniel was insistent I have some training,” she explained.  “And I did.  Years ago.  However, with everything that happened after, I never was able to get beyond more than just the basics with him.”  

He searched her face for a long moment.  “There is much to be said for being a master archer, as I am sure you are aware,” he told her.

“So Bann Alfstanna has told me upon occasion,” Bryallyn reminded him.

Teagan’s smile tipped upwards at that.  “Indeed.  However, I think you and I both know that having more than just a cursory familiarity with a blade can be an advantage.  Especially when traveling with an infant in your party?”

Bryallyn eyed him for a moment.  She thought to remind him of her ranger training, but knew full well he had not forgotten it.  Clearly, he had something in mind.  “What do you suggest, my lord?”

“One of my knights,” he replied immediately.  Straightening, he waved across the courtyard in the direction of the training area.  “Ser Mikal is fully trained in the use of dual blades.”

Bryallyn turned to see a knight with a build similar to that of her husband approaching, though his eyes and hair were both lighter in color.  

“Ser Mikal, I believe you have met the lady Bryallyn?” Teagan asked.  

The knight offered a polite bow of greeting.  “Indeed I have, my lord.  How may I be of service?”

Teagan took a few moments to expand upon Bryallyn’s formal training before stating, “I think it might be in her best interest for both her own and her child’s security if she were to benefit from your knowledge.”

Ser Mikal, who until this point had listened with a neutral look upon his face, nodded immediately.  “I would be more than happy to offer any help,” he agreed.  Turning towards Bryallyn, he asked, “No training at all?”

“Very little,” she amended.  “My husband made certain I learned some of the basics some time back.”

He nodded.  “Have you handled two blades before?”

Bryallyn nodded recalling her training session with Nathaniel after they first met.  “Once or twice, yes.”

“Good.  We can work with that.”  He glanced back over at Teagan.  “If it is alright with you, my lord, I can begin working with her this afternoon?”  He nodded across the courtyard at the gathering of would-be-knights he had been working with.  “I should finish up with my duties at the moment, first.”

Teagan lifted a brow at Bryallyn who nodded her agreement.  “That will be excellent.”

As Ser Mikal walked off, Teagan began leading Bryallyn back towards the manor.  “What ulterior motive is behind this?” she asked quietly, giving him a knowing look.

Teagan chuckled.  “Ulterior motive?  I think perhaps you are becoming a bit -”

Bryallyn rolled her eyes.  “Blame Leliana if I seem overly suspicious,” she advised.  “But you cannot deny that you have some sort of motivation behind this arrangement.”  She paused in the front entry way and turned to face him.  “Why now?  Why when I will only be here a short while longer?  You have known me for years, Teagan, why -”

The bann placed his hands upon her shoulders and squeezed firmly.  “I have noticed a few things of late,” he said quietly, “and while there is little I can offer you other than a refuge from those out there,” he nodded in the general direction of the Bannorn, “this _is_ something I can provide.  Besides,” he concluded, a smirk playing at his lips as the weight of the conversation became just a little heavier than he’d intended, “both Wynne and I can see that you are much more anxious of late.  She has cleared you to begin training again, and I was thinking you are, perhaps, staring opportunity in the face.”

“Opportunity?” she echoed.  Blinking, she thought about it for a moment.  While Alistair and the others were gone, she had the time to get herself back into fighting form.  She could still train with her bow, but also learn some of the skills Nathaniel had always wanted her to have.  Plus, it would help keep her distracted from Alistair’s mission ….  Sighing, Bryallyn managed a smile of approval.  “Alright, Teagan, you win this time,” she acknowledged.

His smile widened.  “Good.  And while you are learning skills to pass along to your son someday, I can -”

Bryallyn groaned while turning towards the staircase to head up to her room.  “You will _not_ be teaching my son to use a sword and shield, Teagan!”

“I am wounded, my lady!” he called up teasingly after her.  Bryallyn, laughing in response, just waved him off as she headed towards her room and her son.  

 

~ n ~

 

Alistair sat at the desk in his room and sighed while staring down at the blank page before him.  This was supposed to be brief; a promise he kept.  Something he could write down and get sent to Rainesfere before they left this morning for the Deep Roads.  Just a quick update so that Bryallyn would know what was going on (so different from what he’d originally expected!) and wouldn’t worry.

“This is impossible,” he muttered mostly to himself a moment later feeling complete and utter despair at ever being able to keep such a promise given the way that things were turning out.   _Political upheaval.  Fighting in a Proving.  Now off to find a Paragon who would hopefully give them the leverage they needed to end the political dispute and get on with things._

Alistair wasn’t completely surprised when Morrigan chimed in, “‘Tis preferable to have the ability to write before putting pen to page.”

“Oh, stop it!” Leliana chided a bit more harshly than intended in Morrigan’s direction while crossing the room to lean her hip against the desk and look down at Alistair.  “Just tell Bryallyn that we are doing the best we can.”

“But how?” he countered.  “How do I explain that we are being pulled in multiple directions by two politically warring factions who could -”

“You don’t.”  Leliana took a knee beside him, reaching for the quill and parchment which he willingly gave up.  “You tell her what you _do_ know.  We arrived at Orzammar to a state of political chaos.  This will not surprise her in the least, I suspect, though we will wait to give her the details later.  Then you tell her -”

Alistair shook his head.  “ _You_ tell her.  I would just mess it up,” he replied.  

“And this is your future king?” Morrigan sneered.

“What?”  Alistair turned in his chair to stare over at her.  “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

“Alistair, please,” Leliana said, pulling his attention back.  “Do not let her goad you -”

“What. Is. She. Talking. About?” he repeated, his hand coming to rest over the blank page as he sought out Leliana’s eyes.  He was able to read her much better now than he had earlier on in their relationship, and he could see she was evading the topic.  “What does Morrigan know that I don’t?”

Sighing, Leliana sat back on her heels tossing a dark look towards the mage who, thankfully, rose from her seat and left them alone for the time being.  Only once Morrigan had gone did Leliana look up at Alistair.  “There are rumors,” she said quietly, “suggesting that since you are the last of the Theirin line that you should challenge Queen Anora for the throne of Ferelden.”

Alistair suddenly felt faint.  “Rumors,” he managed, eyes closing tightly for a moment.  “Dare I ask who is behind them?”

“Would it make any difference?” Leliana challenged.  For someone like her, it would.  But for him?

“Probably not.”  Sighing, Alistair straightened and opened his eyes again.  “I’m going to assume you picked that little gem up while we were still in Rainesfere?”

Leliana nodded.  “Bann Teagan thought you should be made aware.”

Alistair frowned.  “And Bryallyn?  Did she know?”

“She was with me when the he told us,” Leliana explained.  Rising, she began to walk around the room.  “It shouldn’t be surprising when you think about it.”

“It shouldn’t?” he echoed.  “What about the fact that for as long as I can remember I was told not to even _think_ about my connection to the throne?”  He visibly shuddered before nodding outwards towards the main part of Orzammar.  “I could end up like Behlen’s older brother or something,” he pointed out.  Sighing, he ran a hand over his face.  “Bryallyn and I had this discussion months ago.  I told her then like I am telling you now: I am not meant to be king.  Let Arl Eamon have it.  The people like him better anyway.”

Leliana took a seat upon the edge of the bed; close enough she could turn to face him and their eyes could meet.  She saw him start back in surprise at the intensity of her gaze.  “Apparently, it _will_ make a difference,” she informed him.

“What will?”

“The source of the rumors.”  When he still didn’t understand after a moment, Leliana announced, “Arl Eamon is leading the cause to have you declared king over Anora.”

Alistair blinked.  “What?  But why?  After all this time, after telling me for _years_ I had no chance, that I should never even ….”  

Bryallyn’s words from Denerim came back to him in that moment.   _Some people are just out for themselves …._

Leliana watched him closely and noticed when the change occurred.  Reaching out, she touched his hand with her own and waited.  It took another long moment before his hand turned over, fingers wrapping around hers, but she could tell this time he understood.  “There are some very good reasons to put you forward as claimant to the throne,” she told him quietly.  

Alistair sighed.  “I feel like I have walked into Lake Calenhad in full plate and am about to drown,” he muttered.

She squeezed his hand.  “You will not be alone in this, Alistair.  I promise.  And we have other business to finish first, no?  A ‘pesky archdemon’ to destroy?”

He sighed again, but he smiled.  Pesky, indeed.  “And to do that we need the dwarves on our side,” he reasoned, “which means heading to the Deep Roads today in search of this Paragon Branka.”  

She nodded.  “Are you ready to go?”

He glanced over at the still blank piece of paper before nodding.  It would have to wait.  “Go get the others while I get my armor on.”

 


	80. Passing Through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to my beta, Erynnar, who called me out on a continuity issue this time around. The reason this story comes out as well as it does is because of betas like her! :)

 

Entry into Denerim was supposed to have been tricky given everything they had been hearing.  Royal guards on watch, press gangs watching for those who should be serving in the military forces and were not, the Blight going on in the southern part of the country.  Madhouse.  Chaos.  Panic.  A country falling apart.  Somewhere in amongst all that, a hope to find information on Oswyn.  

Somehow, they got through the gates without incident, making it all seem considerably easier than it should have been. It was enough to put them on alert for the duration of their time there.

Upon arrival at the capital, Fergus and Nathaniel both agreed they should enter the city, like they had most larger villages and cities on this journey so far, in smaller groups.  The less conspicuous they were in their presence, the better off they were.  Plus there was the added chance this way that _some_ one actually would make it through to complete the mission at hand.  To that end, Nathaniel stayed with Trinion and one of Rhyan’s men.  Fergus partnered up with Grayson, and the others paired off in twos or threes.  They spaced their arrival out over the entire morning and arranged to meet in the Market District where they could then restock their supplies while searching for word on Oswyn.

“That was too easy,” Rhyan observed casually while leaning against the side of a house on the edge of the market square.  She appeared to the casual observer to be busy cleaning her nails with her dagger, but Nathaniel knew the deception well enough.  Her eyes and ears were on everyone and everything moving around the area which had been going on since her arrival in the first group.

“Settle down,” Trinion replied, the more obvious of the three to be observing the scene before them even though he was trying to appear to keep his focus on a group of children playing rather than the counting of the number of guards in the area.  “They are looking for Wardens, remember, not regular troops.”

Nathaniel nodded once, eyes drawn down the far side of the market to one of the guard posts.  He could see a sergeant and three others talking.  Something about the sergeant was striking a familiar chord with him, though he couldn’t quite place why.  “Still, we should keep a low profile.  No need to tempt fate.”  Across the square, he noticed several of the others of their traveling group joining up together, but there was still no sign of Fergus or Grayson.  In the distance, the bell tower tolled the quarter hour.  Nathaniel figured if Fergus didn’t show up within the next quarter hour he would go looking for him.

In the meantime …  “You two keep an eye out for the rest.  I’m going to look around at the market stalls,” he murmured before stepping away from them.  

He casually browsed his way through books, fabrics, even small caged animals intended as pets in some of the stalls as he wandered.  And though he knew the borders were supposedly closed to traffic from outside of Ferelden, he heard voices whose accents suggested Orlais and Antiva at the very least, as well as many products from the same.  Trade, it seemed, could still find a way to go on despite closed borders.  

He made his way around, poking at an item that caught his eye to appear that he might have some interest in making a purchase, until he reached the far side of the market.  His attention still fully on the guard post, though he appeared to be examining a blade being sold by a dwarven merchant, Nathaniel heard footsteps approach from behind him.  “And to think my birthday isn’t until next spring,” the familiar voice mused with a laugh.

Nathaniel glanced over his shoulder at Fergus, relief instantaneous.  Behind him, back over by Rhyan and Trinion, he saw the rest of their ragtag group forming up, including Grayson.   _Good.  All safe and accounted for._  “I like to plan ahead,” he returned with a grin before handing the blade back to the merchant.  Leading Fergus a few steps away from the stand, he nodded casually in the direction of the guard stand.  “Tell me if he doesn’t look familiar,” he murmured.  

Fergus carefully looked over in the direction indicated and tilted his head.  “The sergeant, you mean?”

Nathaniel nodded.  “I’ve been trying to place him for a while now.”

They came upon a book stall and Fergus stepped over, reaching for a tome to thumb through as they spoke.  “You are right,” he finally replied.  “I can’t place him either, but I know I have seen him before.”  Sighing, he looked over at Nathaniel.  “Should we worry?”

Nathaniel shook his head.  “Not yet,” he said.  “He clearly hasn’t recognized your scruffy face yet.”

Fergus chortled softly as he ran a hand across the back of his neck and scratched.  His hair hung low enough to cover the movement, well below his collar.  Had his mother been present, she would have chided him into getting it cut weeks ago.  “Mine!  You haven’t looked in a mirror of late, have you, brother?  I’m not even certain my sister would recognize you at this point if we were to walk directly in front of her!”

Rolling his eyes, Nathaniel turned away from the stall and started walking in the opposite direction of the guard tower.  Fergus caught up with him a few steps later.  “You do realize that if you want me to be able to follow your plans you at least need to include me in the briefing _before_ you make a move, don’t you?” he pointed out in a dry tone.

Nathaniel grunted his acknowledgement as he pushed open the door to the tavern, but the sound was drowned out by the noise inside.  A quick look surveying the room as he took his first step inside assured him there were no familiar faces here, at least, and so he led the way across the room to a table near the back.  Within minutes, the others were joining them and food and drink both was being brought over by two of the serving girls.  Nathaniel gestured one over to speak with him.  “Can you ask your barkeep to join us for a moment when he has a chance?” he asked.

The young woman straightened and put her empty hands on her hips.  “A problem with the service already?” she challenged.

Fergus, chuckling, hurriedly assured her, “Not at all, my dear.  We are looking for someone and just needed to ask him a couple of questions is all.”

She turned with a huff and wandered over to another table that she cleared before returning to the bar.

“Cooperative lass, isn’t she?” Rhyan noted mildly.  

Nathaniel shrugged.  “Maybe she’s had a bad day.”

“Or maybe you could have been more polite?” Fergus suggested before taking a sip from his mug.

“Me?” Nathaniel protested.  “All I asked was to speak to the barkeep!”

“With a scowl that could rival the stormy skies of Ferelden,” Fergus countered.  

Rhyan snickered.  “That’s nothing new,” she chortled.  “Mr. ‘Gloom and Doom,’ Dev and I used to call him.  It became a full time job just to try to shake him out of it!”

Nathaniel’s scowl returned.  

“Well, at the very least it should keep unwanted interest in us at a distance, I should think,” Fergus replied.  Then offering Nathaniel a quick grin, he added, “Though I have to wonder at this sudden discovery.  Does Bryallyn know about this side of you?”

Rhyan elbowed Nathaniel’s shoulder as his look darkened.  “It was because of her he became Messere Storm Cloud.”

“You like to think yourself amusing, don’t you?” Nathaniel said, downing half his mug in one gulp.  He found himself wondering which would be the more challenging mission: finding information on Oswyn or surviving the day with Fergus and Rhyan and their so called senses of humor riddling his every move.

Booted steps approached and Fergus turned, looking up into the face of the barkeep.  “You folks asked to see me?  How may I serve ...?”  The barkeep’s eyes widened and his gasp was audible to the entire table.  “It … it’s you!”  

Fergus frowned, glancing quickly over at Nathaniel who shrugged, clearly as confused as he was.  Returning his gaze to the barkeep, he replied, “I should hope so?  If I am not me, I’m at a loss as to who I am.”  Rhyan snickered at the doublespeak from the background.

“Forgive me, your Grace,” the barkeep murmured, glancing around the room and deciding it was safe to speak.  “What I meant was … I knew your parents, you see … your father - you are the spitting image of him as a young man - as he was when King Maric retook Denerim from Meghren!”

Fergus stiffened, suddenly face to face with memories and words he’d heard recited to him over and again during his youth.   _You look just like your father at that age …_  “You … you knew my father?” he managed after a moment.

The barkeep nodded.  “I did.”  He reached a hand into his pocket and fished around for a moment before retrieving what he’d been searching for.  As he leaned in closer, he reached over to place a coin in Fergus’ hand while whispering, “In return for a favor.”

Fergus looked down at the coin in his hand and recognized it immediately.  “Maker’s breath!”

Frowning, Nathaniel looked over at it.  “What is it?” he asked, not recognizing it.

“My father had these made after Ferelden was retaken by King Maric,” Fergus explained, handing it over for Nathaniel and Rhyan to examine.  He swung his gaze back up at the barkeep, searching the older man’s face and trying to recall what it was his parents had told him so long ago ….  “Cyril?” he hazarded a guess after a moment.

The barkeep smiled and nodded.  “I am honored that you remember, your Grace,” he replied, bowing slightly.  “You and your sister both -”

“What?”

Nathaniel’s head jerked upwards, meeting the man’s gaze.  “Bryallyn lives?  You are certain of this?”  So far, the only ‘proof’ he’d had were the hazy dreamlike images he’d seen while sleeping.  The last of which had been far less than reassuring of her well being.

Cyril nodded again.  “I spoke her myself,” he said quickly.  “It has been some months, but she was well and in the company of good people, as far as I could judge when I saw her.”  He looked between the two men, frowning gravely after a moment.  “You are aware … she is now one of the two Grey Wardens that Regent Loghain has the warrants out on?”

The silence that followed that announcement was heavy.  “We were not,” Fergus replied after a moment as he watched his brother slump backwards into his seat.  

Cyril turned to Nathaniel.  “She is safe so far as I know, my lord,” he assured him.  “I have no doubt that if she or the other Warden were found or taken I would hear of it in here.”  He scowled darkly for a moment.  “The Arl of Denerim and his men frequent the place rather more than I would like, bragging on their successes.”

Fergus frowned.  “Urien Kendalls?  I don’t recall hearing that he was a part of all of this -”

“No, your Grace,” Cyril broke in.  “You obviously have been out of circulation for some time, so I am not surprised you haven’t heard.  As of recent weeks, the Kendalls’ no longer have a claim to the Denerim arling.  The title now belongs to Rendon Howe.”

Fergus and Rhyan both glanced over to look at Nathaniel with that announcement.  For his part, Nathaniel felt chills run down his entire spine.   _Amaranthine.  Highever.  Denerim.  What next?_  “There is no end to his ambition,” Nathaniel bit out in disgust, rising to his feet.

Fergus shook his head at Rhyan when she moved as if to follow him which kept her in her seat as Nathaniel turned and stalked across the tavern common room and out the door.  Looking up at Cyril, he asked, “I assume you heard of my sister’s marriage before all of this began?”

Cyril sighed, but he nodded.  Collecting the coin back from Rhyan, he pocketed it before looking at the now closed tavern door.  “My apologies, your Grace.  I did not realize.”

Fergus shook his head again.  “It isn’t your fault.  It is easy to forget the connection when the son behaves with more honor than the father.”  Rising to his feet, Fergus asked, “May I settle our tab with you?  We are in search of some important information and should probably be moving on.”  He smiled gently.  “We would not want our presence here to put you in any danger.”

Cyril straightened and waved Fergus off.  “Your presence is a welcome one, never doubt that, your Grace.  As for the rest, think nothing of it,” he insisted.  Fergus opened his mouth to protest, but Cyril raised his hand to silence him.  “Please, do not argue.”  He managed a small smirk.  “You and your sister are very much the same in that regard.  This is but a small service I can do in return for what your parents did for me so long ago as well as repayment for the kindness your sister did for me more recently.”

Frowning, Fergus tilted his head in question.  “Just what has my sister been up to?” he asked.

Cyril chuckled, hands rising to ward off concern.  “She did me a good turn, your Grace,” he hurriedly assured him.  “You know the story of my Amélie, yes?”

Fergus nodded, intrigued at the change in topic.  “My parents told me the story long ago,” he replied.  

Cyril’s smile widened.  “Your sister brought the tale full circle, if you catch my meaning,” he explained.  “One of her current companions is Amélie’s daughter.   _My_ daughter.”

Blinking back surprise, Fergus straightened.  “The cousin Marianne spoke of,” he murmured.

Cyril nodded.  “The very same.”

Grimacing only slightly at the man’s good fortune at having found his child, Fergus managed a small smile.  “Congratulations,” he said after a moment.  “It appears that my mother can now fully rest in peace.  I know the thought of not having been successful in convincing Amélie to stay troubled her upon occasion.”

Cyril sighed, his eyes saddening.  “I tried several times over the years to reassure her that I understood, your Grace.”

Fergus’ smile widened just a bit.  “She was aware of that, too,” he added.  Straightening, he glanced around and spotted Grayson rising to his feet.  Waving him off to go in search of Nathaniel, he stood up a moment after.  “Thank you for your hospitality, Cyril, but we should probably be going now.”

“Of course, your Grace.  Is there any way in which I can offer assistance at all?” Cyril asked one last time.  “You said you were looking for information?”

Fergus sighed.  “A friend, Oswyn of Dragon’s Peak, has gone missing.  We think, or rather _hope,_ he might have traveled this way, but so far have had no luck in finding him.”

Cyril’s brow wrinkled as he considered.  “Bann Sighard’s son?  I do not recall hearing anything of him, no,” he finally admitted, “but you may want to speak with Sergeant Kylon out at the guard post across the market.  He might have heard something.”

“Kylon!”  Fergus snapped his fingers, nodding the moment he heard the name.  “Thank you, Cyril.  I will do that.”  He looked over at the others who all nodded and turned to leave.  “We will take our leave now then.  Thank you again for your help.”

Cyril smiled.  “I know your father gave me the coin should I ever require a favor,” he said quietly, “but I will tell you the same as I told your sister: Should you ever need the same, I will be glad to assist.”

Fergus raised a hand to the man’s shoulder and clapped it solidly.  “Thank you,” he murmured.  “Just knowing that helps a great deal.”  The rest of the group filed out of the tavern before Fergus released his hold and followed.  It was good to know there were still some good people left despite all of the chaos going on around them.

 

~ n ~

 

Nathaniel’s steps, fueled by anger and disgust, took him halfway through the market before he realized he should likely have waited for the others before doing so.  He wasn’t going to be productive in his current state of mind.  And if he wasn’t careful, he might bring further and unwanted attention to himself that could now easily reach his father’s ears.  

A moment later, the proof he’d been dreading arrived: Nathaniel had been so preoccupied with his reaction to the mention of his father that he had walked within easy sight of the guard post.  Glancing over, he found the sergeant looking over at him with just a little bit more than casual curiosity.  Swallowing back apprehension - it was not like Nathaniel to let emotion rule his actions so easily - he nodded in what he hoped was a pleasant manner and started to turn away ...

“My lord, may I have a moment of your time?”

The voice brooked no argument and Nathaniel knew he only had himself to blame.  Halting his motions, he silently cursed himself while turning on his heel back to face the man who approached.  Beyond the sergeant, he saw, the other guards remained at the post.  A good sign, he hoped.  “Yes, Sergeant?”  

The sergeant approached and guided Nathaniel off to the side of the market, away from the stalls and crowds.  “I couldn’t help but notice you have spent a good portion of the day wandering around the market, ser,” the man observed, “and yet you’ve made no purchases nor shown anything but the most cursory interest in the goods being sold.”

Forcing himself to mask his reaction, Nathaniel folded his arms across his chest in a casual manner, making certain to remain well away from any of his weapons, while raising his brow in question.  “Is that so?”

The man nodded and straightened, holding Nathaniel’s gaze.  He was a good one, Nathaniel noticed; not intimidated in the least.  “Is there something I can do to assist you, my lord?”

_Iron hand in a velvet glove._  Nathaniel heard the carefully worded warning beneath the question.  Nathaniel’s gaze narrowed slightly.  “I am a man of very discerning tastes,” he explained and hoped it would end with that.

The sergeant, however, wasn’t buying it.  With an appreciative nod, he replied, “Of that, I have no doubt, my lord.  I think it fair to say that our merchants do well to meet those high standards, even during these trying times.”

Sighing, Nathaniel mentally re-evaluated the situation.  Was there really any harm in telling the man the truth?  “My friends and I are searching for someone who has gone missing,” he said quietly.  “Someone whom we believe might have passed through Denerim.”

The look upon the sergeant’s face did not change.  “Perhaps I can be of assistance then?  I observe quite a bit during my daily watch in the markets.”

Nathaniel caught a movement across the way and glanced over to see Grayson, Trinion, Rhyan and the others approaching.  Fergus, he noted, trailed behind, though he was quick to speed up his step after their eyes met and the teyrn noticed the sergeant standing beside him.  

“Sergeant Kylon.”

The name and the face of the man in front of him struck a chord in Nathaniel as recognition finally set in.  He had never directly spoken to the man in the past, but he had seen him once or twice in the markets, and he recalled hearing the Couslands speak of him before.  

The sergeant turned and looked at Fergus, relief easing his features.  “My lord,” he greeted, nodding his head in acknowledgement of the rank.  “Rumors had it that you’d died at the hands of the darkspawn in the Kocari Wilds.”

Fergus winced, but nodded.  “I have heard the same,” he agreed.  “For now, why not let it remain that way?”

A small quirk at the corner of Kylon’s lips was the only indication of his personal views.  “Of course,” he agreed.  He nodded in Nathaniel’s direction.  “Shall I assume you both travel together?”

Fergus grinned.  “Do you not recognize my sister’s husband?”

Kylon’s eyes darted back around and narrowed before widening in a combination of dismay and surprise.  “Maker’s breath!  I beg your pardon, my lord!”

Nathaniel finally relaxed, allowing the tension in his shoulders to ease.  As apologies went, it was one he could accept easily enough.  

Kylon glanced between the two noblemen as he considered his next words.  “You said you were searching for someone?”

Fergus nodded.  “Oswyn of Dragon’s Peak.  We were given to believe he might have been headed in this direction.”  He hesitated a moment before adding, “We have no proof of it, but we believe that he might have been under duress at the time.”

Kylon scratched his chin as he thought.  “I know of the man,” he admitted, “but I have not seen him here or heard any rumors to his arrival.”  He sighed.  “Then again, it is quite possible he is here and none of my boys thought fit to mention it.”  He sighed again, this time in exasperation.  “Aside from the normal assortment of nobility who come through on official business, for example the emergency session of the Landsmeet they held after Ostagar, the only thing out of the ordinary we have seen of late was your sister and her companions who stopped through, oh … some five or six months ago now?”

Nathaniel stiffened at the mention of Bryallyn again, but this mention passed with greater ease.  “You spoke to her?”

Kylon chuckled.  “Indeed I did!” he replied.  “She and her friends assisted me with a couple of, shall we say, delicate problems?”

“We heard that she and one of her other companions were being hunted in an official capacity,” Fergus mused quietly.  

Kylon smirked.  “My official notices said to be on the watch for Grey Wardens.  If any have passed through my jurisdiction, they have been so well disguised that I did not recognize them as such,” he retorted loud enough for his men behind him to glance over, nodding their agreement.  Then, leaning in towards the two, he added more softly, “After what she and her friends did to help, I can overlook a few small technicalities.”

Nathaniel snorted and glanced away towards the market stalls to hide his amusement.  Fergus grinned.  “I can safely tell you that is appreciated on numerous levels.”

Kylon smiled in return.  “No doubt.  Now, is there anything else I might do to assist?  Your friend - is it possible he could have continued on north?  Maybe bypassed Denerim altogether and headed on towards Amaranthine?”

Fergus shrugged.  “I suppose anything is possible,” he admitted.  “Perhaps we will check there next.”  Nathaniel looked back at him and nodded his agreement.

“One word of warning, however,” Kylon added before they turned to leave.  “There are rumors about of brigands roaming the paths through and near the Wending Woods.”  He eyed the rest of the group, nodding.  “However, I suspect you lot can defend yourselves easily enough.  I would not think they would pose much of a threat.”

“That we can,” Fergus agreed.  “Thank you for your assistance, Sergeant Kylon.  We will replenish our supplies, I think, and then head on our way.”

“Safe travels, my lord,” the sergeant called after them, watching as the group filtered back into the crowds surrounding the various stalls in the market.  “Maker knows you will likely need it out there,” he added softly.  Only then did he turn his attention back to his duties.  

  



	81. Brother Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timing, as they say, is everything. I can happily say that this chapter timed well seeing that it's Nathaniel Howe appreciation week on tumblr! :)

“ _Dareth’asha._ ”

Shaessa’s and Taerian’s voices though in unison were just barely loud enough to catch her attention as they broke through the brush and scrub to join her and the others.  Peering beneath the edge of her hood towards them, she saw each of them gesture behind them down the path from which they’d come.  

“Shemlen fighters,” Shaessa offered quickly as she approached, her hood drawn as far forward as possible to both hide her features and protect her from the pelting rain that continued to fall around them.

“Small group,” Taerian added.  He was dressed similarly to his sister.  “A dozen at most.”

“Could you tell under whose banner they traveled?” Delilah asked.  

Shaessa shook her head while Taerian replied, “There was none that we could see.”

“They were armed and armored, but the quality was not good,” Shaessa added.

Taerian was quick to clarify.  “They looked battle worn.”

Delilah nodded before turning to gesture off to her left before turning to make the same off to her right.  Though the approaching group of fighters wore no designation, it could still be her father’s men.  This would not be the first time he had sent such troops to try to make it past her people and on to Vigil’s Keep or Amaranthine in the past weeks.  “Show me,” she murmured to the two, following them while the others took their places.

Within fifteen minutes, the Dalish siblings led the group to the edge of the road that lazily meandered through the Wending Woods.  The location was some miles from their home deep within the forest, thankfully, but Delilah had reached the point where she would leave nothing to chance.  Anyone on their way to Amaranthine by this path would automatically be designated a target by her and the others unless proven otherwise.  As yet, no one ever had.  

“Take cover.”

Tomil’s words were soft, just over her left shoulder, and a reminder to Delilah that she was still learning to be a leader.  Her shooting skills, however, _had_ improved since her visit with _Le Renard_ some weeks before.  Once Tomil showed her that she _could_ be efficient with the weapon, little things she recalled from the years of watching her brother or Bryallyn as they practiced, or even the late Teyrna Eleanor, began to filter back to her consciousness.  With comfort came ease; with ease her skill and ability blossomed.  It would take years for her to come close to Nathaniel’s or Bryallyn’s level of expertise, but she had her own master archer working with her on a daily basis, both on and off the practice field, and she was learning much.  Along with that, her confidence soared, too.  And who knew, perhaps there was a family trait that allowed her to learn so quickly?  Whether true or not, it was something she held close to her heart during her training.

Stepping back behind the shelter of a tree, Delilah glanced upwards to see that the rest of the archers among the group today were positioned among the branches.  The fighters, she knew from experience, were scattered along the path, on both sides now, hiding behind trees and brush and waiting the signal.  

Delilah glanced over at Tomil from her position the next tree over.  She was barely able to make out the outline of his body from this distance and with the pouring rain, but she knew he was there.  He promised to never let her go into a battle situation unless he was present if only for the fact he wished to see her prove to herself that she could do this.  Still, he often had a calming word or two, or a gentle reminder as she learned to lead her people into battle.  It never ceased to amaze her just how much her life had changed from the year before.   _Has it been a year already?_ she wondered.  Granted, she and the others had not been living in the woods that long, but it certainly had been nearly a year since the worst of it began, hadn’t it?

 

~ n ~

 

Their journey through the Wending Wood proved to be more of a nostalgic one for Nathaniel than he expected.  They passed the place he had first hunted as a child, his target a rabbit that he brought back as a trophy at age eight.  Then there had been the week he’d spent at age twelve, roaming widely around the woods, camping out at night and catching and cooking his own meals while hoping to prove his survival skills to his father so that he could be sent to his uncle, Arl Bryland, for continued training among his men.  Further up the highway and  just to the east of their current track was the location where he, Delilah, Thomas and Bryallyn had gone hunting during her last visit to Amaranthine just a few short years ago ….

“Andraste’s Ass!” Rhyan muttered from off to Nathaniel’s left and slightly ahead of him, her shoulders twisting sharply to shed the buildup of rain around her shoulders.  “Should we not just make camp for the night and let this weather pass?  We could travel the rest of the way tomorrow.”

Nathaniel chuckled while burrowing deeper beneath his hooded cloak.  It offered little protection from the dampness of the steady rain that had been falling since their departure from Denerim a day and a half ago save to keep it from dripping directly in his eyes and obscuring his view of the road ahead.  Still, it was better than nothing.

“This time of year, we will just be walking through it again tomorrow,” Fergus replied.  He had visited Amaranthine a time or two in the past and was familiar with the storms that frequently rolled in off the ocean for which the arling took its name.  

Grumbling her irritation, Rhyan hunched deeper beneath her own outer gear.  Any echoes of gentle laughter from the others were lost in the rumbling of distant thunder.

Up ahead of them, Nathaniel noticed Grayson approaching in the distance.  Having scouted further ahead of them, he appeared to be returning.  He, too, was covered in hood and cloak to protect from the elements, but as Nathaniel watched the man approach, he felt a frown begin to take shape.  Something about Grayson’s approach had Nathaniel on edge.  Something about it felt … off.  Wrong somehow.  It took a couple of moments to place what it was, but after a moment or two, realization settled: Grayson did not have his weapon in hand - a state that Nathaniel had never witnessed when the rogue was scouting ahead of them.

In the half-moment it took for full recognition of the situation to hit him, Nathaniel began reaching for his bow out of habit.  At the same time, he opened his mouth to call out a warning to the others.  However, in that same time, a sudden swarm of soldiers wearing mixed armor and weaponry emerged from both sides of the road and surrounded them, forcing them to come to a stop.  Nathaniel heard voices shouting - some in Dalish, others in the Fereldan tongue - but they were tangled around one another in such a way that Nathaniel could not make any of it out.  Head turning, he sought out the others in his party one by one, making eye contact and nodding once in reassurance.  One by one, each of them raised their hands in slow, careful movements to indicate that they were not fighting back.  Nathaniel did the same and called out, “You have nothing to fear from us.  We are simple travelers on our way to Amaranthine -”

He was quickly shouted down by a cacophony of insults, curses and suggestions that were to the contrary to what he had stated.  

“Who’s to say you are not the Arl of Denerim’s men,” one countered angrily, “sent here to bring us back to the capital in chains?”

“Or worse,” called another, “those of the Regent, here to make us fight his battles against our own kin?”

Nathaniel glanced over at Fergus, noting his brother’s head turning slightly, but it was clear he was attempting to identify those who were speaking.  “We are neither,” Nathaniel insisted as calmly as he could.  “In fact, we wish to avoid such complications ourselves.  If you just let us leave, we will -”

“ _Dareth’asha_ will decide your fate,” a third voice announced acidly.  

Turning slowly, Nathaniel met the eyes of a young Dalish elf moving to stand in front of him.  “Where is this _Dareth’asha_?” he asked, speaking slowly so he could pronounce the unfamiliar name as accurately as possible.

There was movement up ahead of them and the hooded figure he had presumed was Grayson stepped forward.  “I am _Dareth’asha_.”

Nathaniel froze.  Something about the voice spoke to him as familiar, but he could not quite place it ….

Fergus stepped towards the hooded figure - or tried to.  The two warriors surrounding him moved quickly to block his path.  “I mean no harm,” he reiterated, arms still raised.  Still, they would not budge.  “I just wish to speak with _Dareth’asha_.”

Nathaniel’s eyes remained focused on _Dareth’asha_.  “Brother,” he called out, pitching his voice just a little louder so he was certain Fergus could hear him, “why not identify yourself.  Perhaps that would put them at ease.”   _If they can recognize you after all these months, that is,_ he added silently, hoping he hadn’t just decided the man’s fate for him.

Fergus apparently agreed, however, as his hands - still moving slowly - moved to lower the hood from his head.  Disregarding the rain as it now fell fully upon him, he looked over in Nathaniel’s direction first, then back to _Dareth’asha_.  

As Nathaniel had hoped, there were one or two gasps of recognition, despite Fergus’ rain-drenched and bedraggled appearance.  One man, an older archer by the looks of him, took a step in Fergus’ direction but halted beside _Dareth’asha_.  “My lord Cousland!”

_Dareth’asha_ ’s head snapped around to look at him.  The process, so quick and sharp, caused the hood to fall back in part, allowing Nathaniel to catch the slightest glimpse of a familiar shape of a chin, lips, and a scar along her cheek that Nathaniel recalled all too quickly he had caused in their youth ….

“Delilah?”

Her head snapped back around, searching him out, but he saw the sudden shine of hope in them now.  As she did so, he reached for his hood and pulled it back, finally showing himself.

“Nate!”

The distance between them was short, but after a quick hand movement from Delilah, the warriors standing between them moved out of the way and they were able to close it in just a few steps.  The moment they were near enough, Delilah launched herself at her brother and Nathaniel’s arms slid around her, hugging her close.  

 

~ n ~

 

The small hut was large enough for the four of them to sit comfortably, Fergus noted thankfully, but not by much.  Rough and rustic though the hut was, it still held a certain air of charm, despite the circumstances.

“Ceila and I left after mother passed,” Delilah was explaining as she heated water in a kettle over the fire and started preparations for tea.  

Ceila, the mage, had cornered Fergus upon his entry into the hut after she’d noticed the persistent limp in his gait.  He’d tried to wave her off, but she was insistent and rather than cause a ruckus, he’d acquiesced.  At least it meant he could sit down for a while as she examined him.

Nathaniel, too, was seated and Fergus was having difficulty fighting back a grin each time his brother tried to rise to assist his sister.  Delilah clearly had taken on the air of command over the past year or so, because it only took a quick flick of her hand and wrist before Nathaniel would sigh in aggravation and drop back into his chair.  Fergus had even caught the mage snickering a time or two, her eyes twinkling in amusement at the actions.

“Mother is gone?”

Delilah nodded as she fixed a plate of meat and bread for them to share at the table.  “It was inevitable, I suppose,” she said in a soft tone, “but she took ill and just never seemed to get well afterwards.”  Fergus saw the two women exchange a quick look before Delilah added, “It was like she had lost her will to live.”

Nathaniel’s shoulders sagged a bit.  Fergus knew he hadn’t gotten on well with either parent - that Adria had been more like a mother to him through his years at Vigil’s Keep, but the loss of a mother would and could still hurt.  Fergus could attest to that.  “So, mother told you to leave then?”

Delilah nodded again, turning her attention back to the hearth.  “Varel helped us.  Apparently, mother had planned this with him and he had everything ready so that when the time came, we did not have to wait or plan.  He even provided distraction so that we could leave without being followed.”

“Varel is a good man,” Nathaniel agreed.  “So who is at the Keep then?  Thomas?”

Delilah poured out the water into the pot and then took a seat with them.  “Yes.  Not that he does much, really, from what I’ve heard.  Just spends his days in a drunken stupor.”  Sighing, she shook her head, muttering, “Why father put his trust in him, I will never know.”

“You and me both.”

Fergus kept his own council for the moment.  Like the Howe siblings, his take on their father was not complimentary, but neither did he want to remind him just what he had once had himself - and lost at the hands of the same man.  The ache was ever present, likely would always be when he thought of his family and Highever for the rest of his life, but he knew better than to blame either of these two.  

Fergus winced, his semi-spiraling thoughts suddenly breaking off as he felt an unexpected sharp jolt into the injured area of his hip.  Glancing down at the mage, he groused, “What in the name of sweet Andraste are you _do_ ing?”

Ceila chuckled, her lips curving upwards though she did not glance up at him at all.  “I am a healing mage, your Grace,” she murmured.  “Nothing more, nothing less.”

Nathaniel’s snicker caught Fergus’ attention and he glared towards him.  “You find this amusing?”  Beyond him, Fergus spied Delilah turning away to finish their meal preparations, but she too appeared to be biting back amusement.

“I have been at the end of Ceila’s healing methods before,” Nathaniel pointed out.  “Just let her do what she needs to.  You will be all the better for it later.”

Delilah approached Fergus a moment later, carefully handing him a cup of steaming tea.  She then followed suit for her brother before taking a seat again and pouring out one for herself and Ceila.  The mage, Fergus noted, finally rose and moved to sit at the table on the opposite side of him.  “Why are you heading north of all places?” Delilah asked as she settled into her chair.

Fergus gave Nathaniel a nod to go ahead and explain when Nate looked his way.  Might as well see if they knew anything.  “A friend of Fergus’ disappeared from Dragon’s Peak and we were heading to Amaranthine to see if he might have shown there.”

Delilah blinked, surprise clear on her face.  “Why not check Denerim?” she asked.  “That would make more sense, would it not?”

“There was no sign of Oswyn having been in Denerim,” Fergus explained.  “Though we have no proof he ventured further north, we decided to take the chance, just in case.”

Delilah frowned.  “Oswyn … of Dragon’s Peak?  Bann Sighard’s son, correct?”

Nathaniel nodded.  “Yes.  Have you seen him?”

Delilah sighed softly.  “Sadly, no.  And we would know.  We stop any and all who travel between Denerim and Amaranthine these days.”  She gave Nathaniel a hard look.  “Father’s men are not always as … considerate as you have been.”

Nathaniel’s lips pursed into a thin line, but he nodded his understanding.  “Have you taken many losses?”

“Surprisingly, no,” Delilah replied.  “We may be a small band of inexperienced fighters, but we are managing to hold our own.”

Fergus smiled.  “Rumors of your exploits have apparently made it to the Denerim guards,” he told her.

Delilah smiled, but Fergus noticed her cheeks brighten just a bit.  “We must be giving father fits.”

“Let’s hope so,” Nathaniel replied.  Taking a sip from his cup, he asked, “So, tell me about what you have been doing, _Dareth’asha_.”

Fergus thought he saw Delilah’s cheeks darken further, but with the limited lighting inside the hut, it was difficult to tell.  Still, given her brother’s affectionate teasing - and if there was one thing Fergus could recognize from his own experiences with Bryallyn over the years, it was just that - he suspected that Delilah had experience in such matters.  “That is Dalish, isn’t it?”

Delilah nodded.  “You met Shaessa and Taerian - Dalish siblings who joined up with up at the beginning,” she explained.  “They started calling me that.  Roughly, it means ‘woman who gives safety and shelter’ or close enough, anyway.”  She shrugged, her eyes downcast as she picked at a piece of meat.  “Once they started, the others picked it up easily enough and it stuck.  I allowed it because, being as close to Vigil’s Keep as we are, it made sense to use a different name.”

“And I see you have finally picked a bow at last.”

Delilah’s eyes lifted to meet her brother’s.  “Nate -”

Fergus wasn’t surprised when Nathaniel reached across the table to squeeze her hands reassuringly.  “I only wish you had done it sooner, Del,” he told her quietly.  “Trust me, knowing that you can keep yourself safe eases my mind quite a bit.”

Her smile was warm and Fergus watched her hands squeeze back.  “I am only sorry I was too stubborn before,” she admitted.  “I know you only wanted me to be able to take care of myself.”

Fergus chuckled softly.  “You have become a modern day _Le Renard Blanc_ , I should think,” he teased with a wink.

But instead of her laughing along with him and Nathaniel, Fergus saw Delilah’s grin spread.  “While I doubt my skill is at quite that level, I will gladly accept the comparison,” she replied, “seeing as _Le Renard_ ’s own words went a long way towards shaping _Dareth’asha_ into what she has become.”

Fergus gasped, his eyes darting over to Nathaniel’s who met his gaze before returning it to his sister.  “You - you have met _Le Renard_?” Nathaniel asked.

Fergus leaned forward.  “Did she pass this way?  When?”

“Yes, weeks ago,” Delilah replied, a slight frown creasing her brow.  “Maybe two months now?”

Leaning back, Fergus felt relief wash through him at the unexpected and indirect connection with Kayt.  It wasn’t much, but it was enough for now.  “Thank the Maker.”

When Delilah cast a curious glance towards her brother, Nathaniel replied, “Long story for another time.  So, what is your plan?” he asked, turning the topic back to Delilah and her group.  “Stay here and continue to harass the troops that pass through?  Or do you intend to take the offensive?”

Fergus eyed Nathaniel curiously.  He thought he could detect just the slightest hint of a plot brewing.  What exactly that plot was, was anybody’s guess.

Delilah shrugged.  “To be honest, I had not given it much thought beyond day to day survival.  We all gathered here to escape - Father’s troops, Loghain’s troops, bandits.  Take your pick.”  She paused a moment, eyeing her brother closely.  “You have something in mind, don’t you?”

Nathaniel nodded slowly.  “Possibly.  First and foremost, we need to get to Amaranthine and verify that Oswyn did not pass that way.  After that ….”  

Fergus was a bit surprised when Nathaniel looked over at him, but the gleam in Nate’s eyes was enough to get Fergus smiling once again.  He might not know exactly what his brother had in mind, but he had been accepting Nathaniel’s plans on faith for far too long to dismiss them without further detail.  Besides, it wasn’t too difficult to make an educated guess.  “A force of our own?”

Nathaniel nodded.  “Something like that,” he returned.  Glancing between the two, he added, “We would need to do a bit of training first, and I cannot think of a better place than here.  Training, getting used to working together, and then ....”  Fergus saw Nathaniel’s smile turn almost feral as he leaned in towards the center of the table.  Delilah, Ceila and, Fergus noted, even himself all leaned in to listen.  “Cyril told us that Bryallyn was a Warden now and that she and the other Warden both had warrants on their heads thanks to Loghain, right?”

Delilah gasped.  “She is alive?”

Fergus nodded.  “Warden Commander Duncan was still at Highever when it was attacked.  I am guessing he helped her to escape.”

Nathaniel nodded.  “I’m assuming the ‘other Warden’ Cyril told us was her companion is him.  With warrants out for their capture, they must be having a time of it, trying to accomplish whatever goals they have.”

“Makes sense,” Fergus agreed.  “So, what is your idea?”

The feral look returned to Nathaniel’s lips as he smiled.  “What better way to help them achieve their goals to end the Blight than providing _Regent Loghain_ with a little bit of, shall we call it, ‘assistance’ of our own?”

“What sort of assistance?” Delilah asked.  “Nate, I told you, we are not a properly trained fighting force!”

But Fergus kept his eyes on Nathaniel’s.  He was driving at something specific here.  And while Fergus knew Nathaniel wanted to go after his father and Loghain as much as Fergus did, if only to help protect Bryallyn, Fergus sensed something more specific in his plan.   _He’s focused on Loghain … offering ‘assistance’ … he means the opposite, that much is clear ...but what kind of ‘assistance’ could we offer?  Even with the addition of Dareth’asha and her troops …?  Small, ambush type attacks maybe?  It couldn’t be anything more open than that.  But, Delilah’s group had been almost silent with their arrival today, and they certainly had used stealth to their advantage ….  Wait!_  

Blinking, Fergus’ eyes widened as stories from his youth returned.  Given their recent encounters with _Le Renard_ , was it any wonder their thoughts might turn this direction?  “You’re thinking something like the Night Elves back during the Orlesian Occupation?”

The corner of Nathaniel’s lips curled slightly more.  “Exactly.”  His eyes met Delilah’s again.  “I promise you, Del, I will not put them in needless danger.  But this would allow you to go on the offensive.  To help fight back instead of just relying on defensive maneuvers.”  His brow furrowed for a moment before it smoothed out some and he snapped his fingers.  “How many do you have available?” he asked.

Delilah sighed.  “One hundred twenty-six, give or take.  Why?”

“We can leave a small group here - we’ll even leave a couple of ours with them to help, if you like.  That way, they can go on like before so that it takes longer for the connection to be made.  With _Dareth’asha_ still protecting the Wending Woods, no one would think of your forces being anywhere else.   Do you think your people would be willing to help?”

Delilah’s eyes widened and she glanced from Nathaniel to Fergus and then back.  “Do you … you really think we could?” she asked.

Nathaniel nodded.  “I do, Del.  And I mean it when I say you would finally be able to take the fight to _him_ for a change.”  He glanced over at Fergus.  “I can think of few better things than to cause them havoc right beneath their own noses, can you?”

Fergus began chuckling softly, but he nodded his agreement.  “Sweet Maker, Nate,” he breathed, “you do like a challenge, don’t you?”

“Especially when the odds are in our favor,” Nathaniel agreed.

“Wait,” Delilah burst out, exasperation clear in her tone.  “Just wait a damned minute and someone _please_ tell me what is going on?  I know I just missed something important, but -”

Nathaniel rose to his feet and reached a hand towards his sister.  “You and I need to talk,” he told her.  “Fergus can go and brief the others what we have in mind.”

Frowning, Delilah folded her arms, refusing the offer of a hand.  “Nathaniel, I am _not_ the innocent and complacent child I once was,” she warned.

Rising and turning towards the door, Fergus chuckled and took that as his cue to leave.  “Now _that_ is the Delilah Howe I remember hearing stories about from before,” he teased before tossing her a quick conspiratorial wink.  “I can honestly say, I am glad to see she is on our side!”  

 


	82. On The Road Again

 

“My brother will be starting towards Denerim in about a month’s time.”

Bryallyn glanced up from the book she was reading as Teagan entered the library.  Setting the tome aside, she lifted a brow.  “He must be feeling better,” she observed neutrally.  She had her doubts about Eamon and his motives behind joining their side of the issue, but she was not about to voice them openly to her host.  

Teagan made a sound that was a mix of disgust and a snort of amusement.  “That would be putting it rather politely,” he suggested.

Bryallyn smiled and rose to her feet.  It appeared Teagan was well aware of those doubts.  Sighing softly and setting those thoughts aside, she reminded him, “Sadly, we cannot follow until we have presented all of the Warden treaties.”  He nodded his understanding immediately, and not for the first time, Bryallyn found herself very grateful for his support.  “As soon as the others return, we will depart for the Brecilian Forest.  The last treaty we have is with the Dalish.  After we have enlisted their aid, we will then turn towards Denerim.”  It sounded simple enough, though given the way things had worked out so far, Bryallyn did not believe it would be that easy.  Still, there was no harm in hoping.

She did note, however, that her announcement seemed to put the bann on edge and Bry watched him shift back and forth on his feet, arms folded across his chest in an uncharacteristic display of unease.  She frowned.  Clearly, he had something to say, though she really did not feel like hashing out in more detail her thoughts on his brother’s current political agenda at the moment.  Both she and Teagan had discussed the matter and were of a similar mind on it, so what was left to discuss?  Still ….  Sighing again, Bryallyn nodded, acknowledging she would listen.  She owed him that much at least after all he had done to help her.

“I do not think you should take the babe on the road with you,” Teagan announced bluntly and rather unexpectedly.  “You will have enough distractions out there as it is.  Adding an infant to that mix is dangerous - not just for him, but for all of you.”

Bryallyn’s smile was one of relief mixed with a small bit of amusement.  Not because of his concern so much as it was how he had taken on the role of inserting himself in a position that she felt Nathaniel might have taken had he been there.  It was annoying - particularly when to a point, Bryallyn could agree with him - but while she appreciated his concern, she was adamant in her decision.  “My son stays with me,” she said firmly.  “There is safety in numbers, after all, and we will be working our way towards Denerim in the process.”

“Exactly,” Teagan countered.  “Bryallyn, see reason here, please!  The road is no place for a babe that young when you will be encountering resistance, especially the darkspawn kind - at all turns!  Please!” he repeated.  “Do not place yourself or him at that risk.”

This time she shook her head.  “No, Teagan.  I appreciate the offer, more than you can ever know, but he will stay with me.”

He sighed heavily in exasperation and was beginning to turn towards the doorway when the creak of floorboards indicated approaching footsteps.  Looking back over his shoulder, he recognized the owner and turned his pleas towards her.  “You know I’m right, Wynne.  Please, convince her!”

Wynne chuckled softly and entered the room, dropping off a couple of books on a table nearby for reshelving later.  “I have told you before, my lord, I will not become an active party in this discussion.  The choice is Bryallyn’s to make.”

Bryallyn bit back a laugh at the resigned and over exaggerated sigh Tegan couldn’t hide.  “Bry-”

Reaching out, she patted his arm in reassurance and stepped around him.  “We will be fine, Teagan.  It will not be easy, I know that, and we will take whatever extra necessary precautions are needed, but I promise you we will be fine.”

Their discussion was interrupted a moment later when the sound of hurried footsteps rushing down the hall outside of the library rang out.  Curiosity getting the better of her, Bryallyn and Teagan both exited the room and traced the sound.  To their surprise, they came upon a messenger in the front entryway, so exhausted he appeared to be about to drop to the ground.  “What is going on here?” Teagan demanded of the two guards assisting the new arrival.

“M-m-message,” the man gasped, “from Warden Ali-Alistair.”

Bryallyn stepped forward and slid an arm beneath the man’s shoulder, guiding him to a nearby chair.  “What message?” she asked.  She looked around and spotted Wynne who had followed them out of the library.  Waving the mage over, Bryallyn moved aside and asked, “What does he say?”

He nodded slowly, eyes closed and entire body slumped into the chair.  “On … way,” the man rasped.  “Not far … behind.”

Kneeling in front of him, Bryallyn reached out to touch his arm and catch his attention.  She saw his eyes open briefly, meet hers.  “Were they successful in presenting the treaty?” she asked.

His eyes rolled upwards into the back of his head as he slouched even further down the seat.  “Now, now,” Wynne murmured, her hands moving to gently deliver a boost of healing energy, “there’ll be none of that on my watch, young man!  At least, not until we have you in a proper bed.  Now, come along!”

Torn between wanting - needing! - an answer after so long of not hearing anything from Alistair and the others and understanding that the messenger needed time to rest and recover from a decidedly trying journey, Bryallyn rose and backed up a couple of steps.  She knew better than to argue with Wynne, too.

The mage’s lips curled upwards in a smile as she recognized Bryallyn’s silent decision even while gesturing the two other guards over.  “Assist him, please,” she told them.  “He should be lying down about now.”

“The first guest room to the left upstairs,” Teagan instructed them.  Once they departed, he turned back to Bryallyn.  “Bry -?”

Sighing, she shook her head.  “Teagan, no.  I appreciate your concern and your offer - I really do! - but I want my son with me.”  Turning to face him, she smiled gently.  “I have no doubt you would take excellent care of him,” she told him in all sincerity.  “You have gone above and beyond anything I could have ever hoped for or expected with the assistance you have provided, and I can assure you that it will not be forgotten.”

Teagan reached over and took her hand, squeezing it firmly.  “Your family has always been kind and generous in its dealings with me.  I considered them true friends,” he replied quietly, “as I do you, which is why I must insist -”

Bryallyn’s smile widened.  “As I do you,” she echoed, cutting of any further discussion on the matter.  Exhaling deeply, she finished, “I have to take him with me, Teagan.  He is all I have left - the last of the Couslands, the last of my husband.  I think you know, my companions will do all they can to provide a safe and secure environment for us both.  Besides,” she concluded, “it will only be for a few short weeks.  When next we meet in Denerim, he will be returned safely to civilization and you can cease your worry.”

Teagan sighed and grumbled, but he did not go on with his arguments.  Bryallyn, for her part, chuckled softly.  She leaned over into his shoulder and gave him a heavy nudge, winking up at him as he gave her a mock scowl.  “Careful there, Bann Teagan,” she teased, “you are turning into a growly old curmudgeon in your dotage.”

Teagan gave a snort of amusement as Bryallyn stepped back and started towards the stairs.  “You are a menace,” he called after her.

“Spoken like a man who was good friends with my older brother, my lord!” she called back before disappearing down the hall leading towards her room.

 

~ n ~

 

“And here I thought you wouldn’t make any new friends while we were apart,” Bryallyn mused the next day as she, Alistair, Leliana and Teagan spoke during breakfast.

Chuckling, Alistair rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly.  “Yeah.  About that ….”

Leliana giggled softly.  “Oghren isn’t so bad once you get to know him,” she pointed out.  “And he did help us get Harrowmont onto the throne and gain the dwarven support for the Grey Wardens.”

“Which is a remarkable feat in itself,” Teagan pointed out.  “I’ve had my fair share of dealings with the dwarves in the past.  Negotiations tended to be … long and drawn out, as I recall.”

“So, was Oghren sent as some sort of liaison?” Bryallyn asked.

Alistair’s eyes rolled.  “Maker’s breath, I hope not!” he muttered.  

Leliana’s laughter floated around the table again.  “He is, shall we say, lacking in diplomatic skills?”

Alistair nodded.  “He is unique, I’ll give him that.  However, when it come to fighting darkspawn, he is a holy terror!”

Smiling, Bryallyn nodded.  “Understood.  Well, I can hardly fault you for adding another warrior to the group, and one who has experience against the darkspawn is even better under these circumstances.  Maker knows we can use all the help we can get at this point.”  

“If you can say that after you’ve been traveling with him for a few days,” Alistair muttered, “I just might believe you.”

Reaching for a scroll that lay on the table between her and Teagan and with his help, Bryallyn spread it out.  Using a plate at one corner, two cups at opposing corners, and a book she’d grabbed from the library on the way in just in case they needed it for reference, she used her fingers to indicate points of interest as she spoke.  “We cannot afford to be so picky about our allies at this point,” she told her friend.  “While you were in Orzammar, Teagan sent out messengers to Arl Eamon.  The Arl and his troops are beginning to move north, making their way to Denerim.”  Her fingers trailed northward of Redcliffe for a distance before curving around and moving eastwards, coming to a halt when reaching the Imperial Highway.  Tapping her finger just to the east of that, she continued, “I think our best bet is to backtrack and follow their path, making our way to the Brecilian Forest.”  She glanced up at Alistair and Leliana.  “We can present the treaty to the elves on our way and then meet up with Eamon and the others in Denerim when we are done.”

Alistair was frowning down at the map, memorizing the details he found there.  “What are these markings?” he asked, his fingers dropping to touch the dotted line penciled in a fair distance north of Redcliffe.

“That,” Teagan announced gravely, “is the distance we know the Blight has spread.  We’ve had confirmed sightings of the taint and some sightings of darkspawn all across the Bannorn.  Farmsteads, villages and towns - all of it, and it continues to spread at an alarming rate.”

Leliana groaned softly.  “And … the people?”

Bryallyn shared a quick glance with Teagan.  “Refugees are fleeing northwards, from what we have been able to gather.  Many are headed to port cities, leaving the country if they can.  Others are simply moving on from one safe place to the next.”  Shaking her head, she turned to meet Alistair’s gaze.  “We have to stop it.  Soon.  No matter the cost.”

Her fellow Warden nodded his understanding.  The sad and frightening thing was, neither of them knew exactly how to stop it, only that they both were the only ones who could.  If only they’d had time to contact some of the Wardens outside of Ferelden … or were able to find some sort of Warden information cache …  Straightening, Alistair’s fingers snapped, the sound a sharp contrast in the silence around them.   “Denerim.”

Bryallyn’s brows rose at the interruption.  “Yes?  What about it?”

“There was … or, is, I suppose unless Loghain has found it and had it destroyed, a Grey Warden compound there.  It’s a small place meant to house those who were passing through the capital, not like a formal outpost or anything.”  He shrugged, eyes narrowing as he recalled what he knew.  “I’d forgotten about it since I’ve never actually stayed there myself, but Duncan told me about it once and I heard some of the other Wardens mention it too.  Duncan said it was more like a storehouse than a compound or anything - they kept ‘items of importance’ for the Wardens there, though exactly he meant by that I’m not sure.  Still, there might be something that can give us an idea how to go about defeating the archdemon.”

Bryallyn’s lips curved upwards just a bit.  It had taken a moment to follow his train of thinking, but once she realized where he was headed, she felt a blossom of hope bloom in her chest.  “That has to be some of the best news I’ve heard in a long while,” she told him.  Turning, she looked over at Teagan.  “When will you and your troops head out to meet up with your brother?”

Teagan considered.  “By the end of next week,” he replied.  “I think we should be ready by then.”

Nodding, she then looked over at Leliana.  “Please tell the others to gather what supplies they need, replace armor and weapons, that sort of thing.  We will leave morning after tomorrow.”

Leliana nodded and turned.  “It will be done,” she promised as she left.

Straightening, Bryallyn retrieved the map and rolled it up.  “Alistair, would you be willing to -”

Before she could finish speaking, however, Teagan cut in.  “Bryallyn.”

Both Bryallyn and Alistair looked over at the Bann and though Alistair seemed a bit confused by the sudden interruption, the man’s serious tone and the intensity of his gaze told Bryallyn enough that she knew exactly why it had been done.  Sighing, she shook her head.  “Teagan, no.  I know your intentions are for the best, but -”

Scratching at the back of his neck, Alistair looked between the two.  “What intentions?” he asked with a frown.  “Did I miss something while I was gone?”

“Explain to me,” Teagan asked, ignoring his nephew’s interruption for the moment, “how taking an infant out into the blight-infested countryside is protecting him?  Because the way I see it is that you are exposing him to even greater danger.”

Bryallyn, though the shortest in the room by quite a bit, straightened as tall as she could, rolled her shoulders backwards and gave Teagan a long, stern look.  “My son stays with me,” she told him firmly, her tone leaving no doubts that her mind had not changed one whit on the matter.  “You have done so much for me these past weeks, Teagan, and I thank you so very much for that, but I cannot in good conscience do anything but take my son with me.”

Alistair’s eyes widened as understanding finally hit him.  “You mean, you are planning to ….”  Again he looked between the two of them before venturing, “Bry, maybe Teagan is right …?”  At least until she spun around to face him, a fierce look in her eyes.  Swallowing convulsively, Alistair fumbled, “What I mean is … well … we will be fighting darkspawn and who knows what else along the way … and that’s not exactly the best place for a baby to be, is it?”

The glower in Bryallyn’s eyes darkened and had she and Leliana not been working with Alistair for so long now on getting him to stand up for himself and make more important decisions, he likely would have taken a step or two back from her.  As it was, he held his ground, remaining in place until she stood just in front of him, head tilted upwards as her eyes flared with anger.  He swallowed again, but did not move from his place.  “It isn’t my call to make,” he told her before she could start in on him, “and I know that, but I am thinking of his safety.  Let Teagan take him to Denerim, Bry.  He and Eamon will have many more troops at their disposal to protect your son and keep him safe.  It will only be for a few weeks, right?”

Bryallyn opened her mouth to respond, and seeing the anger still in place, Alistair mentally prepared himself for an outburst aimed directly at him …  But it never came.  He watched as her mouth snapped shut just as quickly as it had opened, her eyes still holding his, but the anger there bleeding out, replaced by something less severe.  He noticed tears, too, though she seemed to be fighting those back.  Given what he had come to know about her during their months of traveling together, he wasn’t really surprised at her desire to keep the child with them.  He could easily understand that after his own upbringing over the years, too.  Still, Alistair knew Teagan to be a good man and a trustworthy one, and if anyone could protect Bryallyn’s baby, Alistair would bet on his uncle to be the man to do it or die trying.  And by the Maker, he hoped it wouldn’t come to that sort of extreme.

Bryallyn’s eyes closed and she shuddered, a trembling that shook almost violently through her shoulders as she stood there, and was clearly audible as she exhaled.  “I -” she started, her voice holding the slightest hint of a tremor in it, “you are right, Alistair,” she finally managed.  Her hands rose to her face for a minute, covering her cheeks, her eyes, the depth of her emotional reaction from him.  “You are right.”  Taking a deep breath, her hands dropped and she looked first up at Alistair, giving him a small but reassuring smile in the process, and then glancing over at Teagan.  “My son’s safety is more important, and I need to remember that what we are doing in fighting against the Blight is for him as much is it is for everyone else.”  Another deep, shaky breath.  Nodding at Teagan, she told him, “Please, make whatever arrangements you feel are necessary.”  Then turning and without another word, she walked out of the room.  

Alistair looked over at his uncle who smiled back at him.  “I said the right thing … didn’t I?” he hedged warily.

Teagan nodded.  “You did, Alistair,” he assured him.  “You did.  The fact that Bryallyn backed down and switched her decision is evidence of that.”  Crossing over, he clapped Alistair’s shoulder with his hand.  “You have the makings of a good king,” he mused.

Mood broken, Alistair’s eyes rolled.  “Oh, not you too!” he groaned.

Chuckling, Teagan began to lead Alistair out of the room.  “Alright,” he promised, “I won’t go on about that.  Instead, I would ask that you introduce me to your new dwarven companion.  I find myself curious ….”

 

 


	83. Stormy Skies

 

Delilah stood perfectly still, eyes focused ahead.  Slowly, she lifted the bow to, arm drawing back to her ear with patience well earned.   _The target_ , she thought.   _I only see the target._  She pushed all other sights and sounds surrounding her away, until all that remained was the target straight ahead of her ….

The arrow released from the bowstring with a muted twang, the force and power behind the draw transferring to the missile.  Her focus so intense that this, too, only subtly registered in her head.  A moment later, however, she turned with a smile of absolute delight crossing her lips.  “I am improving at least,” she murmured to her companion.

A low chuckle from her left had her glancing over to meet Fergus Cousland’s gaze.  “You are, indeed,” he agreed.  “I do not know about your brother, but _I_ am certainly impressed by your accomplishments in such a short time!”

The warmth of pleasure mixed with embarrassment at his words crept up Delilah’s neck and into her cheeks.  “Thank you, your Grace.  I -”

His eyes narrowed immediately.  “Delilah,” he murmured, not so much irritated as just quietly reminding her.

The color deepened further.  “Sorry,” she replied quickly and offering a smile of apology.  “It’s just so difficult when I know who you are!”

Fergus sighed.  “I do not recall you ever having trouble referring to my sister by her given name.”

Delilah laughed.  “Well, no.  But Bryallyn and I are friends, that is a whole different -”

Fergus shook his head before leading her away from the target practice area.  “No.  In this time and this place, it is not so different at all.”  They walked in silence for a ways, but stopped before they reached the common area.  Glancing down at her, Fergus told her gently, “We are equals in this, Delilah, drawn together by circumstances.  For now, we need no rank or title.  Just the will to survive.”

Delilah’s eyes hardened just a bit at his words, but she nodded.  “Put that way, you are a difficult man to argue with, Fergus,” she told him.

The seriousness bled out of his features with a snort of amusement.  The partial smile that followed only added to the effect.  “You are most definitely Bryallyn’s friend,” he muttered before turning to lead her inside the dining hut.  “Her influence upon you is too obvious to miss!”

Delilah only chuckled in reply.  She suspected her brother might think it the other way around.

 

~ n ~

 

Some years before, Delilah chanced upon Varel describing to a fellow soldier the agony involved in giving his son the right to live his own life as he saw fit.  At that time, and from what Delilah overheard, it involved a journey to the city of Amaranthine to obtain an appropriate gift for a girl to whom the lad wanted to propose marriage.  To listen to the way Varel told the story, or at least in describing his wife’s reaction to the situation, it left the poor woman torn between fretting for the safety and security of her son on the roads between Vigil’s Keep and the city and in reminding herself that her son was his own man at the time (a whopping seventeen years) and able to make his own life choices.  In the end, he returned safe and sound, if somewhat delayed for reasons Delilah never was able to discern, and his relieved mother hugged him, kissed his cheek, and then promptly given him what for because he had scared her half to death and she had not so many years left to spare.

Today, she thought she could understand a bit what Varel’s wife might have gone through.

The trip to the city itself would have was planned to be taken slow and easy; she knew this.  This time of year, the weather was very unpredictable with storms blowing in off the Waking Sea whenever it pleased.  Then again, there could have been delays in the city itself -  information could be difficult to obtain, or completely non-existent.  Still, when the fifth day dawned since her brother and his small traveling group departed and there was still no sign of their return, the small voices inside Delilah’s head became much more difficult to ignore.

_What if father’s troops discovered their identities?_

_What if, during their hunt for information, they spoke to someone who supported their father’s cause and not their own?_

_What if they were ambushed on the way there or back?  There were certainly several good places this could happen between here and there._

_What if …._

A sudden and drenching cloudburst broke free from the skies above, descending with rapidity and soaking Delilah through as she sat alone at the table in the common area.  Her only reaction to the change in conditions was to lift the hood to her cloak until it covered her head and offering minimal protection.  Her eyes never wavered from the space where the path opened into the camp.

_If I find out you do this to me purposely, brother…._  Her eyes narrowed, a dark glower crossing her features to match her current mood, but there was, thankfully, no one to see it.  Most of her people were well aware when not to cross the _Dareth’asha_ by this point.  They, too, had been keeping track of the days.

A rough scraping of metal against wood as it moved across the table caught her attention if not her gaze.  Soothing warmth emanating from the cup, Delilah’s hand was drawn to it like a moth to flame.  “You do your brother and your joint cause no good if you take ill during his absence,” Ceila commented mildly.  The threatening creak of the bench accepting her weight signaled she meant to stay for a while.

Delilah replied simply by sipping at the tea.  She recognized the flavors that slipped past her tongue - it was a blend Ceila was famed for using to stave off the nagging coughs and chills that occasioned the changing of the seasons.  Rough mornings fighting against the frog in her throat aside, Delilah hadn’t given it much thought of late.  Apparently Ceila had.  Whatever the reason or cause, the drink was hot and not entirely unpleasant, and Delilah opted to sip at it anyway.  Just as she opted to ignore the knowing chuckle that escaped past Ceila’s lips at her success.  “I have no wish to badger you,” the mage announced with only a trace of a chuckle remaining a moment later.

Delilah snorted, darting a quick and, some might say, deadly look towards the woman before they returned to their vigilance watching the path.  “Who are you trying to fool?” she challenged.  “We both know you live to badger me.”  

“When necessary, yes,” Ceila countered.  A moment later, she sighed.  Setting her elbow upon the table, she brought her chin over to rest atop her hand.  “These storms remind me of the day your brother joined the world,” she mused a moment later.  “The winds blowing erratically off the Waking Sea.  Rain and thunder crashing around the Keep for what hours as your mother labored to give him life.”

Delilah scowled.  She’d heard the story of the day Nathaniel had been born.  She’d also been personal witness to how it had affected both her parents in the years since she had joined him in this adventure called ‘life.’  “If you are about to tell me that he is just being as difficult as he was the day he was born, you can save your breath,” she groused.  “He has _always_ been difficult.”

Ceila chuckled softly.  “I am just reminded of that day,” she replied.  “And how both you and he grew to be such fine young people.  Despite your parentage.”  

Delilah had opened her mouth to retort, but she closed it instead.  What was there to say to that?  Only Adaia might know her and Nathaniel any better than Ceila, and that was simply due to the timing of their employ within the Howe household.  Both were more mother and/or father to her and Nathaniel than the biological parents ever were, and Delilah was well aware of that fact.  She hoped Nathaniel was as well.  Thomas, she suspected, not so much.  Of the three, he had been the one who got along best with their parents, or at least their father.  Then again, that also explained a great deal about his life choices.  Choices that neither she nor Nathaniel agreed with.  Funny, how that worked out.

A shrill whistle echoed through the camp before Delilah could say anything to the mage.  Moving quickly and on instinct, she stood and pulled her bow into readiness.  The call had been one of recognition, but that didn’t mean it could not have been coerced somehow.  Waving Ceila off to their hut, Delilah moved up to take partial cover behind one of the larger trees.  Shaessa and Taerian both appeared seemingly out of nowhere and moved into similar positions nearby within a matter of seconds.  

Moments later, however, all weapons were lowered as familiar faces slipped from the edge of the treeline and entered camp.  Sighing in relief, Delilah hurried towards her brother and Fergus.  “How did you fare?” she asked immediately.  The primary purpose of the mission, after all, had been to discover Oswyn’s whereabouts.  Anything else, including intelligence on Vigil’s Keep which _had_ been in the plans on their return, was secondary.

Fergus shook his head as they walked towards the huts.  “Absolutely nothing,” he replied, dejection in his tone.  Sighing softly, he ran a hand through damp hair.  “To be honest, I did not expect otherwise, but I truly dread having to tell Bann Sighard of our lack of success.”

“It isn’t your fault, Fergus,” Nathaniel reminded him quietly.  “And we still have one other lead to investigate.”

Fergus snorted softly.  “That was hardly trustworthy, and you know it,” he muttered before turning and stalking off towards the hut he and Nathaniel had been given to share.

Sighing, Nathaniel turned his attention to his sister.  He searched her face briefly, a hand rising to rest on her shoulder as he dropped his forehead to lightly touch hers in a sign of brotherly affection.  “I am sorry we caused you worry, Delilah,” he murmured, acknowledging what he so easily recognized there.

Biting her lip, Delilah darted a quick look off in the direction Fergus had departed.  “I take it you were unsuccessful then,” she commented before giving him a brief hug in return.  

“Unfortunately,” he agreed.  “And despite what Fergus thinks, we _will_ investigate the new information we did come upon.  He may not think much of it, but I’m not so sure.”  Shaking the thoughts from his head, he offered her a smile.  “How about something warm to drink and I can fill you in on the rest of the details?”

Nodding, Delilah led him into her hut where Celia had been busily preparing more tea.  Two cups sat upon the table; the mage chuckling softly but otherwise ignoring the dark glare Delilah sent her way.  Nathaniel either didn’t notice or found the behavior normal enough to leave without comment as he removed his weapons and took a seat.  After a long and careful sip, he sighed in contentment.  “That is just what I needed.”

Delilah could practically feel Ceila’s gloating eyes upon her but she remained silent.

Taking a moment to stretch weary limbs, Nathaniel finally removed a piece of parchment from one of the pouches at his waist and spread it out on the table so Delilah could see it clearly.  “We made a thorough investigation around the Keep,” he told her.  Lips pursed into a thin line he pointed at the varying marks on the map - defenses in addition to the usual ones located at their home.  Quietly, he shook his head.  “Father never had this many troops at one time,” he mused.  

“He is amassing an army,” Delilah breathed, dread seeping through her.

Nathaniel shook his head.  “I am not so certain,” he replied.  “I suspect some of these may be destined for Highever.”

Delilah bit back a groan, her own head shaking.  “No,” she countered.  “Not _that_ many.”  Eyes staring at the numbers and placement in addition to supply information that had been noted, the dread coalesced into a heavy lump inside her.  It was as she’d been fearing - their father was sending more troops up from Denerim, either of his own initiative or because Thomas was asking for them.  Either way, it wasn’t too difficult to guess what or who their target was.  “We need to move,” she told him in concern.  “We have become too good at what we do.”

Nathaniel shook his head.  “Not yet,” he advised.  Folding the parchment, he returned it to the pouch.  “I still think going to Denerim is our best option.  If we are lucky, we can make them believe that _Dareth’asha_ has left the area and is taking her skills to the capital city.  If we are incredibly fortunate, we may be able to convince them that you are in two places at the same time.  If not, at the very least we should be able to confuse them enough to make them delay setting their main attack.”

Delilah’s eyes darkened with anger.  “And what about the innocents?” she demanded.  “If those troops find us and attack, they will not stand a chance!”

There was a soft knock at the door causing both siblings to turn as Ceila answered.  Fergus, now changed from his armor and weapons into something more comfortable, entered as the mage opened the door fully.  His eyes found Nathaniel’s immediately.  “Have you told her what we found?” he asked.

Nathaniel nodded.  “We were just discussing possible options,” he returned.

“How large of a group are you planning to take to Denerim?” Delilah asked, thoughts still on ways to protect her people.  She was, when it came right down to the crux of it, torn.  Ever since Nathaniel first presented his idea to her, Delilah had been consulting Ceila for her opinion.  The mage, like Nathaniel, was in favor of the idea, and for similar reasons.  Time and heavy thought had finally brought Delilah around to the same conclusion, though this new information had her hesitating.  

“You, me, Fergus and a few others.  Your two Dalish might be a good addition as well,” her brother added.  “Everyone else, including those from our ranks, will remain here.”   He leaned towards Delilah.  “They will be safe, Del,” he insisted

Delilah considered his words.  All of them.  Her brother had far more experience than she when planning things like this, as did Fergus who sat next to him nodding his own agreement.  While responsibility as their leader ate away at her, she did know when to trust her instincts, and right now they were assuring her that Nathaniel and Fergus had the right of it where the safety of the rest of their group was concerned.  As for Nathaniel’s request for the elves ….  “Taerian and Shaessa both dislike the overcrowding of the city,” she told him, “but both expressed a willingness to do whatever is necessary, no matter what plan of attack we decide upon.”  And their bows, Delilah knew, would come in more than just a little useful.  Looking between her brother and Fergus, she next asked, “When are you planning to leave?”

“In two days time,” Nathaniel replied.  He glanced over at Fergus.  “If that is alright with you?”

Fergus nodded.  “That will put us in Denerim in less than a week; that should be fine.  There is another side to this I think we should explore, however,” he concluded a moment later.

Nathaniel’s brow lifted in question.  “Oh?”

Nodding again, Fergus explained, “I will meet up with Bann Sighard.  I doubt we can do much to give the man any hope at this point -”

Nathaniel used his hand to slice through the air and cut off Fergus’ comments.  “We will investigate that last lead first,” he insisted.  “ _BEFORE_ you meet with him.  If still we find nothing, then you can approach him.  Better to have every opportunity explored than miss the one that could possibly lead to results.”

Shaking his head, Fergus countered, “Did it not seem too obvious to you?  We were vague enough with our requests for information, nothing to indicate exactly what we were looking for, and yet someone approaches us to give us _exactly_ what we wanted?  It reeks of a trap!”

Delilah frowned.  “Can one of you please give me the details?” she asked.  

Sighing, Nathaniel laid it out for her.  “We were at the _Crown and Lion_ waiting on the rest of the group to return,” he explained.  “While Fergus and I sat there, we were approached by a messenger - a boy,” he added, looking pointedly over at Fergus, “who openly admitted to being one of the Chantry students.  He had been asked to give us a message.  Which he did.”

“With the exact information we were after!” Fergus countered.  “Do you not think it too convenient?”

“I had Grayson follow the lad back,” Nathaniel told him.  “He followed him the rest of that afternoon while you and I waited for Rhyan and Trinion to return.  In his report to me later, Grayson said he’d followed the boy back to the Chantry where he returned to his studies as if nothing out of the ordinary happened.  The _only_ person he saw the boy interact with was with one of the revered mothers, and if they spoke, he was unable to hear what was said.  And you, Fergus, of all people know the quality of Grayson’s scouting abilities.”

Muttering beneath his breath, Fergus tossed his hands into the air.  “Fine.  Trust what you think you have seen, but I will not.  Not without some further proof!”

Delilah glanced over at Ceila who, she noted, was finishing making a cup of tea that she was bringing over to Fergus.  Despite his irritation at Nathaniel or the situation, he paused to thank Ceila for the thought and at least drank it.  Swallowing back a smile, she shifted her thoughts back to the problem at hand.  

Denerim was, above all else, the capital city.  A place for political meanderings and maneuverings.  By right and law, Fergus was entitled to be teyrn, despite Delilah’s father’s efforts to the contrary.  Still, showing his face in such a manner or for such a claim right now might just set her father off to trying something just as destructive as he had at Highever, and they didn’t need that right now.  Besides, Fergus has made it clear that, for the moment at least, he was not interested in reclaiming his birthright.  That could come later, once the rest was resolved.  Which left them in a position of … what?   _Nothing_ , she thought with a sigh.  No one on their side.  No one to whom they could turn.  No one who ….  “Wait a minute ….”

Nathaniel and Fergus both turned towards her.  “What is it?” Nathaniel asked.

“I just had an idea,” she told him.  Leaning towards them, she continued, “When we get to Denerim, our goal is to keep father and everyone else off balance, is it not?”  Both men nodded at her.  “What if we had some sort of diversion in place while we are there to help with that …?”  Her voice trailed off for a moment and a mischievous smile curled at her lips.  

Nathaniel began chuckling.  “Uh oh,” he teased.  

Fergus glanced over at him.  “Uh oh?”

Nathaniel nodded.  “I know that look.  It means Del has come up with something sneaky.”

Delilah snorted, an indelicate sound but one she had used since childhood, at least around Nathaniel who did not judge her like their parents’ did.  “I simply think I know how we can defeat several birds with only one rock,” she told them.  

“Which ones?” Nathaniel asked.  

Fergus frowned in confusion.  He was familiar enough with the expression, but considering the limitations they were up against, he wasn’t certain which ones to which Delilah was referring.  

Using her fingers, Delilah ticked them off one at a time.  “Distracting father.  Following up on your lead on Oswyn.  Beginning to lay a path that will help Fergus down the road.”

Fergus pulled back in surprise.  “Wait - when did _that_ become a goal?” he asked.  “Look, Delilah, I told you before - I am fully prepared to wait until -”

She shook her head sharply which effectively cut off his protest.  “You cannot afford to wait,” she told him simply.  “Aside from the fact that our father acted completely outside the law and for no legitimate reasons other than his own ambition, it still remains that he should not be allowed to get away with what he did.”

“And he will not,” Fergus argued.  “I can assure you -”

Reaching out, Delilah placed her hand over his, patting it gently in a soothing manner.  “I know,” she told him.  “I did not mean to imply that you would let it go.  What I meant was that if we act _now_ , it will not be expected.  And in the end, it will help with the distraction part of the plan, too.”

Nathaniel eyed her closely.  “You have something specific in mind,” he mused, finger and thumb rubbing against his chin.  

She nodded. “I do.  Before you arrived, rumor had it that the nobles are beginning to gather in Denerim for a Landsmeet,” she explained.  “I’m not sure exactly when or any of the specifics behind it, but that does not matter for us just yet.  Surely, some of those nobles will be supportive of Fergus’ claim to Highever.”

“That will not do me any good,” Fergus protested.  “We will need the Crown on our side, and with Loghain acting as Anora’s regent, I highly doubt we will get that.”

Delilah waved off his protest.  “Small steps, _your Grace_ ,” she told him, emphasizing the title.  “Have you ever heard that old saying?  ‘How do you eat a bear?’”

Chuckling, Nathaniel glanced over at Fergus.  “She got you there, brother,” he teased.  

Fergus scowled, but he still kept an expectant look on the younger Howe.  “‘One bite at a time,’” he finally muttered.  Had he not heard that old axiom enough times over the years?

“Exactly,” Delilah replied.  “And if we are lucky, I can think of at least two nobles, maybe three, who should be in Denerim already who would be willing to lend us additional support.  In turn, I am sure they will each know others who will join our cause, and so on.”

“Additional?”  Fergus sent a surprised look over to Nathaniel, but Delilah’s brother shrugged, clearly at a loss.

Grinning, Delilah rose to her feet and moved to assist Ceila in clearing off the table so that they could have room for the meal the mage had quietly been working on.  “You obviously have not spoken with those I trust most,” she told them.  “Surely you did not think that someone as skilled as Tomil had a previous life as a carpenter or ferrier in Amaranthine?”

Nathaniel considered her words.  He knew of whom she spoke - after their arrival in the Wending Woods, he’d made it a point to meet those with whom Delilah had entrusted some sort of command of their small band.  And now that she mentioned it, Tomil did appear to be more skilled than one might expect of someone joining their ranks from one of the towns or outlying farms.  “He’s an outsider,” he murmured.  Which likely meant he’d been sent by someone.  And if it was as Delilah was hinting at, someone fairly high in rank.  “Where?”

“Waking Sea,” she informed him.  “He arrived with the personal seal of Bann Alfstanna herself.”

Fergus blinked.  “Alfstanna ….”  For the briefest of moments, he felt a flare of hope flutter in his chest.  If Alfstanna was aware of Delilah’s situation and was openly offering assistance, she might be willing to do the same for him.  And, if Alfstanna _was_ involved, chances were ….  “Bann Teagan would be another,” he said.

Delilah nodded as she retook her seat.  “I have no doubt that they will know who can be trusted and who might be willing to offer support, despite any challenges that lie in our way.”  She sighed softly, but offered him a warm smile.  “You are not alone in this, Fergus.”

And for the first time since his entire world had been torn apart, Fergus was inclined to believe the words.

 


	84. Once Bitten Twice Shy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this chapter ready for several weeks and completely forgot I'd gotten approval from my beta to post! Oops! Also, it started off meaning to focus on Bryallyn more, but Alistair decided he needed some attention. I think I still achieved what I needed to with the chapter, though, so no harm done! :)

 

The journey east to the Brecilian Forest went smoothly if not challenging enough.  Encounters with occasional groups of darkspawn were as frequent as they were expected at this point.  With that in mind, Bryallyn, Alistair, and the rest of their companions were prepared for the delays caused by these chance meetings.  Still and all, when they finally arrived within weeks of their departure from Rainesfere and in relatively good health despite the challenges along the way, Bryallyn sighed with relief.  At this stage of the game, they could ill afford to lose any of their number, even for the short term.

Which, she soon discovered, put them in a considerably more advantageous position than their potential elven allies.  

It took some doing - assistance in finding lost warriors; hunting down iron bark for the dalish craftsman, Varathorn; even facing off against a deranged apostate blood mage and speaking to a talking ancient Oak tree - but even with multiple encounters with werewolves along the way, the truth of the situation was eventually exposed.  There was a curse in this forest.  A werewolf curse.  And a deep reluctance among those living through it to discuss the nature of it.  

In the end, though, it came down to a simple decision - elf or werewolf; friend or foe.  Still pulling out the facts up until the very last minute, like pulling teeth from a reluctant mabari, Bryallyn gave this battle her all as she would any other.  Even when the facts of the matter began to take shape around them, Bryallyn continued to search desperately for a way to get both groups to assist with the fighting of the Blight - after all, the Blight was not something specific to humans or elves or werewolves, but to all who lived in Thedas.  Bryallyn sought out Alistair’s thoughts along the way as she usually did, as well as some of the others, but when it came time to make her choice with whom to stand, her hand was forced before she’d had time to fully settle herself upon a decided path.  She prayed that she made the right one.

Luck, it turned out, was on her side and the end results, worked to their advantage.  Bryallyn managed to convince Zathrian to end the curse he began so long ago in revenge against the humans he felt responsible for the deaths of his children.  With his own passing as a result, and the curse finally broken after so many years, a tentative peace between the two groups formed.  Bryallyn was not foolish enough to believe that there would not still be some lingering tensions between the two, but for the moment at least both groups agreed they could focus upon the greater threat: the Blight.  

The Blight.  The entirety for their reason for coming to the Brecilian Forest in the first place.  The Warden treaties now fully engaged, there was only one thing left to do: defeat the Archdemon.  But between the forest and the end of this journey lay a huge chasm of uncertainty.  Bryallyn and Alistair were the only Grey Wardens left in Ferelden.  History, tradition, and rumor all had it that a Grey Warden was the only one who could defeat the Archdemon.  If a bright spot in all of this could be found, it was that both Bryallyn and Alistair had survived Ostagar when the rest of the Ferelden Wardens had not and had so far managed to stay alive despite being hunted by Loghain and his troops.  Surely, two Wardens would be able to end the Blight, right?  One question remained standing in their way, however: how?  

Nothing in all of Alistair’s training as a Warden suggested how the Wardens ended a Blight, just that they did.  The Warden treaties, obviously a tool used to achieve such ends, now that they were delivered, were somehow a part of all of that.  But that said, it still gave Bryallyn and Alistair no ideas on what the next step was to be.  They had troops available, allies to help fight a final battle to defeat the Archdemon, an army of size and strength capable of winning … but only if the two Wardens could figure out how.  After lengthy discussions between them, both Bryallyn and Alistair finally decided that their only chance to locate the final piece of this puzzle was to head to Denerim in the hopes that some clue or piece of guidance had been left behind in the Warden compound Alistair had mentioned previously.  Convenient that it was their next destination for other purposes as well.

Of an evening and whenever circumstances had allowed since their departure from Rainesfere, both Leliana and Zevran had taken to offering Bryallyn training on how to fight properly with two blades.  Of course, Bryallyn had recognized from the beginning Teagan’s hand in all of this, but she willingly accepted the intervention.  Had Nathaniel been with them, he no doubt would have been insisting on the training himself.  And since she was no longer pregnant, Bryallyn had no excuse to keep from it any longer.  The time had finally come to fulfill the promise she had made so long ago to the man she loved, even if he wasn’t there to witness it himself.  

The results of her training began to show immediately.  Some in expected and smaller ways - getting back into fighting condition or simply by ducking and dodging more quickly - and others in in larger ones - Bryallyn wondered if she would ever forget the look of astonishment on the genlock’s face, her blade protruding from his chest as the life faded from his eyes.  After weeks and by the time they departed the Brecilian Forest, if not fully adept with the techniques taught Bryallyn could at least recognize that she was well on her way to proficiency.

On this particular evening, Alistair sat beside the fire in the center of camp with most of his focus on tending his armor and weaponry and half an eye on the Antivan elf and his fellow Warden as they sparred nearby.  Wynne sat beside him reading some dusty old tome they had found among the ruins in the Brecilian Forest.  Whatever the book was, Alistair confided to Bryallyn earlier that day as they traveled, it thoroughly captured the mage’s attention during every spare moment they had.

“Dammit!”

The curse, Alistair noted, was followed almost immediately by a familiar thudding impact of weight into the dust and dirt on the ground accompanied by a low groan of discomfort.

“Ah, my dear Warden,” the Antivan murmured, stepping over and dropping to a knee beside her, “have you forgotten one of the first rules of battle?”

Bryallyn, Alistair noted with a small grin and a silent prayer of thanks that he was not her training partner at the moment, glared pointed daggers at the elf.  Swallowing tightly, Alistair managed to keep a chuckle from escaping.  She was using ‘that look’ at the moment which had him counting his blessings yet again.  He made a mental note to suggest in future that she use ‘that look’ when fighting the darkspawn.  At this point, any advantage would help them.

“You tripped me on purpose,” Bryallyn accused.

Chuckling, Zevran rose and offered her his hand to help her to her feet.  “But of course!” he reasoned amiably.  “You should always expect the unexpected when fighting in such close quarters, no?”

Reluctantly it seemed from Alistair’s point of view, Bryallyn reached out and allowed him to assist her up.  A soft, humming tune drifted around him and Alistair was distracted for a moment as Leliana slipped in to sit on the log beside him.  Before fully turning his attention away from Bryallyn, however, he noticed a small spark of … something twinkling in her eyes.  It was an expression he had seen once or twice before in the past and he couldn’t help but murmur, “Uh oh.”

“Hmm?”  Wynne’s head rose from her book and she glanced first at Alistair and then over to Bryallyn and Zevran.  Leliana, still humming softly to herself, seemed to giggle softly between notes, but that was the only sign of a reaction from her.  A moment later, with the grace and agility of a cat, their ranger-Warden leader yanked suddenly on the elf’s arm, pulling him off balance and towards her while sweeping her leg around to knock his from beneath him.  Zevran landed with a heavy thud in nearly the same place where she had just moments before.  Leliana’s giggles grew a bit louder, echoed by Wynne’s soft chuckle of amusement, and eventually even Alistair released a hearty laugh, unable to contain himself any longer.

Straightening, Bryallyn used her hands to brush dirt and dust off her leathers as she stared down at her sparring partner.  “I seem to recall something along those lines, yes,” she replied as she worked to catch her breath.

The elf laughed softly in return, nodding his approval.  Rising slowly to his feet again, he told her, “This is good!  I see our lovely Orlesian friend has been giving you instruction on the side without alerting me.”

Bryallyn did not offer the elf her hand as he had.  Instead, she took a few steps away, facing him the entire time, and prepared herself for the next round.  “I do know a thing or two from my years under my father’s instruction,” she reminded him.  Highever’s troops were known to be honorable fighting men and women, but that did not mean they did not know or understand basic tactical rules of engagement.  

Zevran bowed, his head dipping respectfully.  “Of course, my dear Warden,” he murmured with a genuine note of respect.  “My apologies if I suggested otherwise.”

As Bryallyn and Zevran continued their spar, Leliana turned towards Alistair while pulling out her blades to work on.  “She is getting much better,” she commented.

“She is,” Wynne agreed, her eyes firmly ensconced back among the pages of her book.  “A fact that will help us all, I should think.”

Alistair paused and glanced over for a long minute to watch the pair.  Bryallyn’s movements were coming much more fluidly than they had at the outset.  He had always been amazed by her ability and accuracy with a bow, but seeing her now was like witnessing a non-stop bundle of barely contained energy.  It was both amazing and frightening at the same time.  It also did a lot to explain why she was a rogue and not a sword and shield warrior like he was.  A less than gentle nudge into his arm, right above his elbow, left him wincing but returned his attention to Leliana.  “Ouch!  What?” he added when he realized she’d asked him something.

Chuckling, Leliana repeated, “I asked if you agreed, too.”

“Oh.”  Flushing slightly, Alistair nodded.  “I know Highever is well known for the training of their warriors, but I guess I hadn’t realized that they were quite so good at training rogues as well.”  It was certainly true enough: Alistair had heard many a rumor over the years to this effect.

Wynne lowered her book, her eyes drifting over to Bryallyn for a long moment.  “Bryce Cousland had a remarkable skill on the battlefield,” she said softly.  “Surviving the Orlesian occupation and the Battle of White River was evidence enough of that.  But,” she added, “he also recognized talents in other areas.  He had among his people some of the best Ferelden had to offer.  It does not surprise me at all that his daughter is as skilled as she is.”

Another thudding flop nearby echoed softly across to them followed by another hearty curse.

“You knew the Couslands?” Alistair asked the mage when she finally glanced over in his direction.

Wynne nodded.  “I had occasion to visit Highever a time or two in the past,” she admitted.  “For official business, of course.”

Leliana smiled as if she knew better, but refrained from commenting other than with a murmur of agreement.  “Of course.”  

Alistair glanced between the two women with the distinct impression that he had just missed something important, but he could not figure out just what.  

“What Rendon Howe did there,” Wynne continued in a quieter tone, “was beyond reprehensible.”  She sighed softly.  “I only hope that when this is all over, justice can be found for the family and Bryallyn’s son’s future there assured.”  

Another thud, this time accompanied by a groan in Antivan.

Three pairs of eyes focused on their Warden leader who stood back, a grim look of determination suffusing her features as she distractedly brushed a few loose curls out of her eyes.

“I suspect that Bryallyn will allow for nothing less,” Leliana murmured.  “And I intend to help her as much as I am able.”  Pushing herself to her feet, she replaced her blades in their sheaths.  “To that end, perhaps I should take over the training for a while and give Zevran’s ego a break from abuse, yes?”

Alistair watched her walk over and speak to Bry and Zevran.  The elf nodded after a moment, stepping outside the boundary of their sparring ring where he took a seat on the grass.  “What will it take to see that she succeeds?” Alistair heard himself ask.  Like Leliana, he, too, would do whatever it took to see that his friend’s future was assured.

There was a pause before Wynne replied, “No more than what you already are already doing, I suppose.  Then again, I am no politician.  Perhaps Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan can offer more suggestions to that end of things.”  

Alistair turned his attention back to his armor, but not before he caught a lightly whispered, “And maybe a king who supports her and her family’s claim.”  

Another thud, this time followed by a more energetic chuckle … that was not Leliana.  

Staring at his hands for a long moment, Alistair frowned.  He understood clearly what Wynne’s words were hinting at.  It wasn’t anything different than what Bryallyn and Leliana and the others had been guiding him towards or helping him see over recent months.  Arl Eamon was a bit more obvious about it, and though Alistair had already come to the realization that his role in things would likely take him in a direction away from the Grey Wardens, facing it now as he was and with closer proximity to Denerim was offering a more in depth view of things.  

He lifted his head and watched as Leliana and Bryallyn sparred.  Ducking, dodging, and weaving their way around one another in an attempt to find an opening for attack.  He kept his eyes on Bryallyn, his best friend, fellow Warden, and one who, he suddenly realized, was going through very life-changing events as he was.  She had once told him she had never wanted to be a Grey Warden.  At the time, he’d been a bit astounded, as his view of the Wardens was clearly through colored glass.  But the more he had learned about her, the experiences that she had shared with him and the others, the more he was coming to realize that with her decision to become a Warden - a decision she made of her own free will, despite potential consequences to the child she’d been carrying - was very similar to that which he faced when being presented with the idea of becoming king.  

Up to this point, Alistair had felt as if he was being _driven_ down this path, his path chosen for him without input from him.  But perhaps it was more than that.  Where people like Arl Eamon wanted him on the throne because he was of the royal bloodline, Bryallyn had been open and honest about it with him all along, telling him she thought he would be an excellent king because of who he was.  Of his personality.  What was it she’d told him after they’d spoken to Goldanna?   _Some people are just out for themselves._  He’d realized after a moment that she’d meant he needed to learn that, accept that not everyone was as open and honest as he was about things.  He’d agreed after a while, and generally speaking had come to accept that as fact.  Had it not been proven during their journey time and time again?  

It was difficult to say what the future might hold for either him or Bryallyn.  Above all else, they had to find a way to defeat the Blight first.  End of story.  Only then could they determine next steps, though he suspected, if Eamon had his way, Alistair’s position as king would be determined _before_ the Blight ended.  If _that_ happened, he would make it clear in no uncertain terms that he had to help Bryallyn defeat the Blight before he could take the throne.   _If.  If.  If_.  So many ifs to consider … but then, that was how they’d been fighting the Blight all along, wasn’t it?  Making choices based on ‘ifs’ and the outcomes determining what happened next?   _If_ they got the support of the mages.   _If_ they got the dwarves assistance.   _If_ Eamon survived his illness.   _If_ the treaty with the elves could be executed.  Now, it was _if_ they could find out how the Wardens were supposed to kill the Archdemon.  

Setting his sword aside, Alistair began gathering up his supplies to put away.  Well, they’d made it this far on ‘ifs’, they could make it the rest of the way, couldn’t they?

 


	85. Retracing Steps

_Hope_.

Four letters that formed a word that carried such a weight behind it, Fergus silently wondered if he could withstand the pressure from it.  Hope to reclaim his family’s home, title, and all that had been stolen from them.  Hope to, at least in some small way, avenge the deaths of his parents, his wife, his son, and so many others.  Hope that, if not quite back to normal, he could find a way to rebuild, both Highever and the lives of his people, as well as his own.

His eyes stared at the open page before him, though he knew his expression must be blank since he was not actually seeing the words.  It was the journal that Kayt had left for him, teasing him that if his Orlesian could take him far enough, he might learn more about her by reading it.  So far, his knowledge of the language had been up to the challenge, though he suspected he was missing out on some more subtle nuances - trust the Orlesians to put that in _all_ aspects of their lives!  To date, he’d made it through about two thirds of the book, and in it, found another source of hope inspired by Kayt’s mother, Marianne.

Fergus tentatively allowed his memories to drift back over the years, gently prodding at the still aching wounds caused by personal losses, but gradually covering the distance.  From the earliest times of his youth that he could remember, his parents had told stories of the Orlesian ex-patriot who had assisted in freeing Ferelden from the Emperor’s grasp.  Of how she’d faced her half brother, _Le Loup Garou_ himself, and defeated him before succumbing to her own wounds.  Of hearing stories of _Le Renard Blanc_ assisting those who needed it most, asking for little or nothing in return.  So many stories in which to find guidance and … hope.

“What is that you are reading?”

Suddenly and quite unexpectedly pulled from his memories, Fergus glanced upwards to find Delilah looking down at him.  She held out a steaming cup of tea which he took with a nod of thanks, allowing the journal to rest in his lap as he wrapped both hands around it, absorbing the warmth on this cool evening.  “A … friend gave it to me and suggested I read it,” he explained in hesitant fashion.  Delilah knew about Kayt, that much Fergus was certain of.  He had overheard her reaction when Nathaniel had given her the connection between the Ranger and _Le Renard_ shortly after their arrival.  Delilah, to her credit and probably also by her brother’s request, had refrained from speaking of it aloud, especially in front of others.  Vaguely, he wondered if Kayt had even realized the pressure she had left on him with the knowledge of who and what she was, a secret worth protecting of course, but at what cost?  Then again, he was startled to realize as he sipped at the tea, that if she had been afraid of the consequences of her secret being found out, she would never have allowed him or Nate or any of the others in their group find out in the first place.  That thought gave him some pause.  

Delilah took a seat beside him and out of the corner of his eye he saw her glance over at the open pages.  “Your … friend,” she mused with the merest hint of a smile in her tone, “has issued you a challenge then.  Are your skills with Orlesian up to the task at hand?”

Chuckling, Fergus closed the book and set it aside.  “So far they have not failed me,” he admitted, “but there has been a time or two I felt I was missing something important.”  Sighing, he carefully stretched his arms over his head, automatically wincing a little at the pops as joints protested, but relishing the relief it brought.  “I did not spend those weeks and months in Orlais without picking up a thing or two,” he pointed out, referring to the trip he’d taken in younger years.  The same trip that had eventually led him to Antiva and his original meeting with Oriana.  Practically speaking, his Antivan was much better than his Orlesian, for obvious reasons, but he remembered enough.  And, the more he read, the better it came back to him.

Fergus paused and blinked as the memory of the outcome of that trip overtook him then.  Gently, it wrapped around him, holding him close, warming his heart in a way he had not felt for a very long time before fading away and leaving in its wake less an ache of loss and regret and more of a fondness at what once had been.  Healing, it was said, took time, and he could acknowledge when steps towards that progress occurred.

Delilah chuckled softly.  “Your ‘grand tour,’ I believe Bry once called it,” she mused with a smile.  

Fergus pushed away the memory and his reaction to deal with at a later time and instead flushed, but he managed a smile for Delilah.  “Tease though she might, I seem to recall Bryallyn was quite happy when I returned home and provided her a new sister.”

The evening settled around them quietly, the only sounds coming from usual happenings of camp life.  In the distance, the watch patrol could be heard walking their circuit.  Across the way, someone was working on their armor, the distant and muted clangs as the pieces were carefully tended a comforting sound.  Somewhere beyond the camp but still within hearing distance came the soft whistling of Grayson whose turn it had been to clean the pots and pans and dishes from their evening meal.  At first, those not used to the rogue’s unusual activity often put it down to him being a rather cheerful fellow, but Fergus knew better.  After years of service to the Couslands, and more recently the weeks and months of travel together, Fergus recognized Grayson’s actions for what they were: an early alarm system, of sorts.  Were he to find anything out of the ordinary during his housekeeping excursion, the rogue would stop his whistling suddenly, a certain indication to his companions that something was most definitely wrong and they should prepare themselves.  Thankfully, it did not often get put to the test.

Quiet footsteps approached from behind them a short while later, and Fergus was just turning to identify who approached when Nathaniel dropped to seat himself on Fergus’ other side.  Eyeing the journal, he gave his brother a quick smile.  “Still at it, I see.  Does it make for good reading?”

Fergus rolled his eyes, but said nothing in response.  Had he not been at the receiving end of Nathaniel’s teasing regarding this particular book for too long already?

When Fergus refused to rise to his baiting, Nathaniel turned the subject.  “We should arrive in Denerim tomorrow afternoon,” he explained.  “Grayson has a cousin who runs an inn -”

Fergus snorted and straightened his posture.  “Another one,” he said flatly, though it was more a comment of resignation than a question.  Fergus knew of Grayson’s family ties to many of the innkeepers and barkeeps of Ferelden, but until these many months of traveling together, he had not realized just how extensive that family network reached.  And while he could appreciate the associations and the assistance they had provided, it still left him shaking his head in astonishment when yet _another_ link was found.  

Nathaniel chuckled.  “My exact words when he told me,” he admitted easily.  “At any rate, Grayson is certain this cousin and her family will provide us with lodging at a reasonable rate.  From there, we can fan out across the city as necessary, each to our own tasks.”  

_And guaranteed of watchful eyes and a safe-haven to which we can return._  Another thought occurred almost immediately and Fergus’ brows dipped narrowly in reaction.  “Should I not seek out Teagan and Alfstanna and stay with them?” he countered.  “Make my ‘claim’ appear all the more legitimate and keep even fewer eyes and thoughts away from your direction?”

Delilah scoffed and kicked a rock near her foot.  Fergus, eyes caught by the motion, watched as it landed in the fire pit, dislodging some of the burning limbs and cascading them down with a burst of flame and sparks above it.  “Your claim _is_ legitimate!” she insisted angrily.

Fergus sighed.  Glancing over at Nathaniel, he mused dryly, “How could I forget how deeply ‘obstinate’ runs in your bloodline?”  

Nathaniel’s smile was formed by the slightest hint of a curve at the corner of his lips, but it flattened a moment later, eyes darkening, as he reminded Fergus, “Obstinate isn’t always a good thing.”  Of all the traits he and Delilah had inherited from their father, Nate knew they could well have done without this one.

“Scowl any more darkly, brother,” Delilah cut in lightly in an attempt to derail her brother’s sudden downward swing, her eyes met her sibling’s, “and your face might just stick that way.”

The awkwardness of the situation was not lost on Fergus, but he felt at a loss how to deal with it.  During their journey so far, whenever Nathaniel’s mood had spiraled, his brother had simply walked away and spent time alone before rejoining the others.  Now, however, he was in the middle of a discussion and it was there, staring him in the face.  Searching for a way to ease the transition for him, Fergus spoke up quickly, “My poor choice of words notwithstanding, what I meant to suggest was, should I not try to stay with one of them?  I have no doubt that Teagan, if he has arrived by now, would certainly give me shelter, and knowing Alfstanna, she would do the same.  And if my goal is to gain their support - which I do not doubt I will receive, knowing each of them well - then that would give legitimacy to my presence in the city.”

Nathaniel considered it for a moment but in the end shook his head.  “I would not seek them out immediately,” he replied, “for shelter or for other reasons.  There is safety in numbers, remember, and we are traveling into a place where we know my -” His eyes traveled over to Delilah, “ _OUR_ father currently has strength.  I do not think he would try anything openly or in public, but what occurred at Highever proved that, if nothing else, he is not above attacking another noble’s home in order to achieve his own lofty goals.  I would advise keeping your distance at first, at least until we know just how much influence and power he truly has within the city.  For your own safety,” he emphasized, “as well as Teagan’s and Alfstanna’s.”

Fergus grunted his agreement, hiding behind his mug for a moment and the excuse of sipping his tea to hide any more personal reaction.  Truth of the matter was, it was difficult to argue against Nathaniel’s logic, and the thought of bringing destruction upon two whom he considered good friends as well as allies turned his stomach.

“And what of me?” Delilah interrupted.

“You and I and the others will do some reconnaissance,” Nathaniel explained.  “Before we begin anything, I want to be certain what is where and who might be involved and to what degree.  I would prefer to keep innocents from becoming targeted during our stay if at all possible.”  He gave his sister a knowing look.  “This is a private matter between ourselves and Father.  I would like to keep it that way as much as possible.”

Delilah nodded soberly.  “As would I,” she agreed.

“My Lord?”

Nathaniel turned.  “Yes?”  It was Padraig approaching, his steps with only the slightest hesitation as if he had a comment.  

“The last time we were through Denerim,” the warrior explained, “I overheard a couple of the city guards talking about trouble with the elves in the alienage.  What that trouble was, exactly, I did not hear, but that might be something to look into.”

“To what end?” Nathaniel asked, confused.

But Delilah’s lips curved upwards quickly as she caught on first.  “Potential allies,” she told him.  “It might be tricky - if they are anything like the alienage elves in Amaranthine, they will have no love for us, but -”

“What about Shaessa and Taerin?” Nathaniel asked, considering their Dalish companions and wondering if they might be able to ease an alliance with their city kin.

“Like I said,” she continued, “tricky.  Still, it might be something worth investigating.”  She sat back and tilted her head thoughtfully for a moment.  “We have both city elves and Dalish up in the Wending Woods,” she explained, “and though the acclimation for both has had its share of challenges, in the end they were able to sort it out.  But that was when we had time.”  Sighing, she shrugged.  “I say we look into it - especially if they can help us with Father somehow.”  She shook her head, a look of disgust crossing her features as memories and rumors passed through her mind.  “After what he’s done, we might need all of the support we can gather, and I for one am more than willing to take it from the elves.”

Nathaniel nodded.  “We will look into it,” he agreed.  Like his sister, he recognized that in order to go up against the senior Howe, they would need to bolster their forces.  When it came right down to it, Nathaniel knew he and his sister were not picky whether that help came in the form of elves or humans, but Nathaniel couldn’t help but wonder what his father might think of both his children looking to the elves as allies.  Rendon Howe was much more circumspect in his dealings.

“My Lord?”

Nathaniel glanced up at Padraig again.  “Hmm?”

“My Lord, Trinion is asking to speak with you when you have a moment.”

“Ah.”  Pushing himself to his feet, Nathaniel turned to follow.  “We will make this work,” he told Fergus and Delilah by way of parting, “it just might take a little time to get all of the pieces in place.”

Fergus rolled his eyes and heard Delilah giggle.  A quick glance over at her and he realized she had seen his reaction.  “I will leave you to your reading, I think,” she told him, rising to her feet with a smile.  “It will likely be more restful than having to talk strategy with me or my brother.”  The twinkle in her eyes suggested she was teasing him, but Fergus simply smiled.  To be honest, he was more than happy to have the time to himself for now.

Alone again, he reached for the leather bound journal and opened it to the last page he had been reading.  Marianne’s script was easy enough to read, yet flowed in a manner suggesting elegance which occasionally had him pausing to wonder more about the woman.  He only knew her through the stories his parents had told, through Kayt, and through this journal.  He had come to admire her from a young age.  She had been strong and brave and courageous, perhaps to a fault, but in the end she had given her own life to protect Ferelden in the only way she could.  His eyes drifting across the page now, Fergus felt a smile tug at his lips as he read some of the ‘misadventures’ of Kayt’s youth and Marianne as mother.  In the words, he also found mention of the Dalish fighter traveling with them, the man who had become Kayt’s guardian after Marianne’s passing.  As he flipped from one page to the next, he silently prayed that Kayt found success in her hunt for the man.  

 


	86. Faded Visions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beta and I finally caught up with one another after a month (April) of doing Camp Nano! Yay! Enjoy!

After consulting with Trinion and an impromptu as well as amusing discussion with Grayson regarding his familial connections with innkeepers across Ferelden, Nathaniel finally made his way back to his tent for the night.  He slid into his bedroll almost clumsily, and was not surprised that exhaustion claimed him almost immediately.  In fact, had he considered it before his eyes began closing, he might have been more aware of the soft glow of the ring on his finger that matched the one his wife wore and been better prepared for what came next ….

~ n ~

_Pawns … knights … pieces upon a board, spread out before him.  His were the white, as they always were; the black his opponent.  The asymmetric design laid out before him indicated that the match was well underway … but Nathaniel could not hold back a frown in spite of that.  The fact of the matter was, he did not recall the start of it.  In fact, he considered while reaching to move one piece to take the matching of his opponent, there was something both eerily familiar about this situation and completely new at the same time, and both caught him off guard._

_The Fade …._

_Blinking, Nathaniel shifted his gaze across the board, lifting slowly to evaluate his opponent … only to find the seat before him completely empty.  Frowning, he set the captured piece aside and looked around him.  Still, there was no one there so far as he could tell.  And yet he knew he was not alone …._

_A gentle warmth seeped slowly through him.  Familiarity struck at him quickly, kindly, and caused the severity marking his features to lessen._

_“Bryallyn.”_

_The whispering of a name eased him even further even as the softness of steps behind him approached …._

_“Nathaniel?”_

_Bryallyn wasn’t certain quite how she’d come to be in this place at this time.  The shape and form of the buildings surrounding her were reminiscent of any one of the noble estates that could be found around the country, especially in Denerim, and there was nothing in it to identify to her whose it might be.  With that vagueness before her, she had been slowly, carefully, making her way through, unwilling to change from her arms and armor to something more appropriate for one of her noble standing and in such a setting._

_At least until the vision at the end of the hall spoke her name._

_Blinking, she glanced down to see the armor fade from her body, replaced by flowing silks and satins.  The solidity of boots transformed into the softness of slippers to match her dress, and around her shoulders her hair now hung freely, unbound and curled, shifting easily around her shoulders with each step she took._

_At the far end of the hall, she saw him rise and walk around the gaming table.  Her chest ached, her breaths struggling rasps, but beneath it all she accepted the wave of loneliness and the ache of lost time together.  “Nathaniel!” she breathed again before lifting the hem of her skirt and running forward._

_A chasm, wide and deep, suddenly appeared between the two, broadening to impassable distance even as they drew nearer to one another.  Both came to a stop quickly, managing to keep from falling in, but the distance continued to grow despite this._

_Frustration the likes of which he had never quite imagined could hurt so deeply tore a sound of anger from his chest.  Bellowing loudly like the bear on his family’s crest, he vented at the unfairness of it all._

_Bryallyn, too, was pushed to her limits.  From one moment to the next, she shifted from silks to leather, robes to armor, the crest of the griffin gleaming brightly from the center of her chestpiece and refracting what little light could be found in the Fade.  Her voice echoed his, reverberating around them in frustration and denial.  She tried speaking to him, but realized that he could not understand her words when he simply looked back at her in growing concern and confusion.  When he began to speak, full understanding struck her as his words, all garbled and unrecognizable, drifted to her ears._

_Turning away from him, Bryallyn shouted to the very Fade itself instead.  “Enough with your games!” she ordered, hand rising in a fist that surrounded the bow she always carried close at hand.  “Either bring us together, or set us apart for eternity, for I am no willing pawn in these games you continue to play!”_

_Reaching behind him, Nathaniel grasped the back of the chair in which he’d been sitting just moments before.  Taking firm hold of it, he launched it into the air between himself and his wife, flinging it across the chasm that continued to grow between them.  “Show yourself!” he ordered angrily, a scowl marking his features and darkening them to any who might look.  “This game is at an end now!  Show your face that I might end it permanently!”_

_The chair, for the past several moments beginning to slow, suddenly froze in mid-air, hovering in suspension over the center of the chasm.  Nathaniel’s eyes were drawn to it as were Bryallyn’s.  They both stared in fascinated horror as ever so slowly it began to come apart.  Stitch by stitch, the seamed leather began to split apart.  Each nail wiggled out of its hole releasing the pieces with agonizing lethargy.  What should only have taken minutes seemed to take hours until finally, lined up in a straight line and seemingly in one, swift motion, they all dropped heavily and with speed into the chasm beneath.  A moment later, the very Fade itself began to follow after._

_“No!”_

_Bryallyn’s gaze darted to her husband’s for the brief half second as she turned away and began to flee - away from him._

_Desperation had him doing the same, launching himself backwards in an effort to avert the pull of the chasm below.  But with each attempt, he could feel himself losing ground, sliding backwards, the Void finding victory in his attempts at retreat.  Nathaniel was a practical man.  A trained soldier.  A tactician.  He knew at times retreat was the better part of valor.  He was not afraid to admit that.  Still, he did not have to like it, and in this instance, he most certainly did not.  But if it meant he had a chance to leave the Fade, to continue trying to find a way back to Bryallyn, then he would.  He might not like the separation - in fact, he hated it - but he would keep fighting to find her again._

_Presuming he could extricate himself from this damnable Fade …._

_Bryallyn Cousland-Howe was not a quitter.  Had she not proved it during the Blight?  Had she not kept going, along with Alistair, when the Grey Wardens had been all but eradicated thanks to Loghain and his retreat from Ostagar?  She fought then and she would fight now to get away from whatever trap this was in the Fade.  She had no desire to die here!  She had a child who depended on her and a husband she was determined to find again, Maker damn her efforts!  She would not give in to the Void now, not after all she’d lived through this past year …._

~ n ~

Bryallyn bolted upright with a gasp so sharp, she could not hold back a moan of pain.  Hand rising, she rubbed the area absently even as she attempted to sort out the dream in her head.  Two lone tears tracked slowly down her cheeks, dripping from her chin onto the skin of her hand before continuing their journey downwards.  She was tired of this.  So.  Damned.  Tired.  Every time she saw Nathaniel in her dreams, she was barred from getting close.  From truly speaking to him.  From any communication whatsoever, really.  Deep down inside, she believed he still lived.  Foolish and selfish as it might be to wish for something so great during such trying times, it was in large part what kept her going.  Especially when their child was not with her.  Like now.

Taking a deep breath, Bryallyn glanced through the slightly parted opening to her tent.   The camp was quiet for the most part, save the sounds of night creatures moving, the pop and crackle of the fire, and the occasional scraping of metal and leather as those on watch moved about.  Nearby, just outside her tent, she could hear the soft sounds of Constant as he lay curled up beside her tent, snoring.  Her hound and the glow of the fire gave her something on which to focus; an anchor to ground herself once more.  In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t much, but it did help some.  

After a time, the ache faded to tolerable levels and Bryallyn curled back up beneath her bedding.  It was as she moved, rolling over onto her side, that she caught the softest glow at the base of her finger.  Blinking drowsily, she silently wondered at it … and fervently hoped it was a good sign ….

 


	87. Arrivals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in posting. I’ve spent the past month (July) in Camp Nano working on the last 30 or so chapters for this story! That’s right, we are nearing the end of this journey, believe it or not! I’ve managed to get rough drafts of 21 of the chapters, with about eight left to go. I was hoping to get them all done so I could post them up and finish the story on its 6th anniversary in October, but logistically that won’t happen. Seriously, I would never bury my fabulous beta – Erynnar – like that, no matter how often she tells me ‘let me have them!!!’! LOL   
> That said, I should hopefully get it finished by the turn of the year – at least, that’s my revised goal. In November, I’ll be focusing on Nano for a fourth year (original fiction again!), so there might be a slow down if I can’t get the last eight written by then. In the meantime, enjoy what I’ve come up with so far!  
> And as always, THANK YOU to my patient, fabulous, everlasting beta, Erynnar without whom I’d be so lost!

With each step closer to the capital city, Bryallyn could swear the hair along the back of her neck and upon her forearms bristled with increased tension.  Her body, her mood and those of her companions, even the very air they breathed, all of it closed in upon her, weighing more heavily than anything ever before.  It was subtle at first; like a slow, seeping, festering wound building upon itself in such tiny increments it was scarcely noticeable.  The first Bryallyn even became aware of it, she and the others were passing through Dragon’s Peak bannorn.  The suddenness and shock of arriving in civilization after weeks of being out on the road was enough to push her senses to a point of being overwhelmed.  Suddenly, sounds were as loud as Chantry bells in her ears, smells turned her stomach with a rapidity and unexpectedness that reminded her of the early days of her pregnancy, and her temper snapped as easily as a foot stepping upon a fallen twig.  Add in the residual effects of her unexpected visit with her husband the Fade, and Bryallyn found herself cringing at practically everything.  And it did not end as they continued north to Denrim.  The rustling of leaves on a tree as the wind blew past.  The delighted giggles of a small child at play.  Even something as friendly and familiar as the banter between Zevran and Leliana set Bryallyn’s heart racing at breakneck pace.  Breathing became difficult simply due to fear constricting in her chest.  

She ignored it at first.  What else was there to do?  It had no physical form or shape -- she could not face it down like she would a darkspawn or one of Howe’s or Loghain’s men.  Her arrows could not take hold to wound. Her dagger could do nothing to make it bleed.  Even Constant or one of the other animal companions she could summon would  have no luck in chasing away this enemy.  The only choice she was left with was to ignore it as best she could and deal with the things that she  _ could _ do something about.  

Like the upcoming Landsmeet that Arl Eamon had called.

Bryallyn knew her efforts to hide her troubles from the others failed miserably when Alistair confronted her just outside the gates of Denerim.  “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Bryallyn’s eyes lifted to meet his.  “Of course.”  He was quick to step off to the side of the path.  Remaining in sight of the others, Alistair made certain to keep a safe distance from the guards on duty so they wouldn’t overhear.  “How can I help?”

In his typical slightly awkward but no less endearing fashion, Alistair struggled for a moment to find the words he wanted.  Bryallyn smiled encouragingly at the starts and stops until he finally managed, “Actually, I guess that is, more or less, what I wanted to ask you.”

Bryallyn blinked in confusion.  “Ask me?” she echoed.  “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he looked back over his shoulder in the direction that the others had walked and were now entering the city, heading towards Eamon’s estate as they had planned ahead of time should they get separated.  “I think I can safely say we -- the rest of us, I mean --  have noticed that the closer we get to Denerim, the more … I don’t know -- anxious, maybe? -- you become.”  

He paused a minute to rub his hand along the back of his neck in a move that Bryallyn recognized as habitual when speaking of serious things he felt were somewhat out of his depth.  She opened her mouth to reply, but he continued on in a rush before she could even formulate words.  “You’ve been so quiet, Bryallyn --  _ too _ quiet.  We’ve all noticed,” his hand moved in a vague sort of way in the direction the others had taken.  Brows furrowed in concern, he stared down at her.  “I will admit I didn’t notice it at first, but Leliana did.  Wynne, too.  I can’t even begin to think what they thought it was, but I heard someone suggest because Howe is in Denerim --”

Bryallyn sighed, eyes closing for a long moment.  “That’s not it,” she murmured immediately, though she quickly added, “Well, not all of it.”  Her eyes opened and found his again, the concern softening.  “There is a part of me -- a very  _ large _ part of me -- that would much rather head in any direction away from Denerim right now.  The thought of facing him again after what he did to me and my family turns my stomach like you wouldn’t believe.”  It was more than that, of course, but Bryallyn could not find the words to explain.  Not yet, anyway.  Her lips pressed tightly together, thinning, and she tried to calm herself.  “We all have our own demons to face, I suppose.”

“True enough,” he agreed quietly.  “What about the other part?”

“The other part?  Oh.”  Absently, Bryallyn lifted a hand to scratch at the side of her nose, her eyes drifting over his shoulder to focus on the gates beyond.  “The other part,” she whispered tightly but with vehemence, “is ready to hunt the bastard down the minute we pass through those gates, to destroy him just as thoroughly as he did my family.”  She scowled darkly, eyes moving back to meet his again and after a long minute, it faded and she forced a smile.  “Like I said, demons.”

To his credit, Bryallyn noticed, the shock and surprise only registered on Alistair’s face for the space of time it took to blink.  It was proof that Leliana’s influence on his was having some effect that it disappeared so quickly.  “Remind me never to get on your bad side,” he muttered dryly.

As he often did, Alistair managed to trigger Bryallyn’s amusement and she laughed.  Her visage eased fully then, and the smile widened.  “Should I not be saying the same?” she teased.  “ _ Your Majesty. _ ”

This time it was Alistair who scowled, but Bryallyn spotted the hint of red creeping up his neck too.  “I hate you.”  As epithets went, Bryallyn recognized this one for what it was -- reluctant acceptance of the inevitable, but with just a splash of rebellion thrown in for as long as it would last.  Ultimately, it would be up to the Landsmeet to decide, but Bryallyn knew Alistair would not avoid the responsibility if it was indeed what the nobles wanted, despite his personal inclination to avoid it.  

Chuckling softly, she nodded towards the gates.  “We should go,” she told him.  “I shudder to think what will happen if we allow Shale loose in Denerim for too long without supervision.”

Falling into step beside one another, she heard Alistair snort softly beside her.  Their passage through the gates was achieved without comment or disruption thanks in no small part to the increased traffic since their last visit, and once on the other side it didn’t take long for them to get their bearings and turn in the right direction.  “Personally,” Alistair told her, “I am more concerned about Oghren.  Do you suppose we ought to have sent a message ahead warning all ale houses to be on guard for the dwarf from Orzammar?”

The distance to Arl Eamon’s estate in the city was relatively short, taking them through the streets of several neighborhoods.  Each visit they’d made, Bryallyn had noticed the changes -- obvious signs that things were growing worse due to the Blight or even because of the decisions the Regent was making.  It was easier to spot such things out in the Bannorn -- the effects of changes in trade patterns and the flight of refugees were much easier to notice and more quickly than in the larger trading and population centers.  Still, now months removed from Howe’s attack on Highever and the defeat at Ostagar, even the capital city was beginning to show signs.  Though the refugee problem did not appear, outwardly at least, to have reached levels as in the Bannorn, Bryallyn recognized that they were traveling through the better neighborhoods at the moment and the evidence could be elsewhere.  She made a mental note to check into things sometime during their visit south and east of the river where the poorer classes tended to congregate.  

They entered the Market District a short time later and what was not so noticeable before was more like a slap in the face here.  “Not as many stalls as our last visit,” Bryallyn observed quietly.  

“With the borders to Orlais closed and the ports barricaded from elsewhere, it’s no wonder,” Alistair returned.  They passed the location Master Ignacio had once kept for himself and his cousin.  Now, nothing but empty tables and dusty spaces where chests once stood.  “Even the Antivans have left.”

A squeal of laughter pulled both their gazes across the market to find several children running around each other in what appeared to be a game of tag.  A mangy mongrel of a dog seemed content to join them as well.  “At least some things haven’t changed,” Alistair observed.

Bryallyn nodded at the guards on duty as she and Alistair moved into the courtyard to Eamon’s estate only to find that an official presence had arrived before them.  Sighing, Bryallyn straightened, glanced up at Alistair and tilted her head slightly towards the scene.  “I guess we should join them.”

“Someone tell them we were coming?”

“More likely they had someone watching for Eamon to show up,” Bryallyn replied.  “When a nobleman’s entourage enters a city, it can be rather obvious, and he did send out word ahead of time calling for the Landsmeet, remember.”

The pair moved into position behind Eamon without further comment.  Though Arl Eamon and Loghain were in the middle of conversation, Bryallyn was not surprised to see the Loghain’s eyes rise to meet hers.  “And here is the power behind your challenge to the throne!” he exclaimed.

Bryallyn remained silent, refusing to rise to the bait.  Alistair, too, kept quiet.  “If you refer to the Wardens,” Eamon replied, “then you are mistaken, Loghain.  The only tie the Wardens have is through Alistair.”

“That is debatable,” Howe sniveled, his nose rising to an angle that gave him the appearance of a hawk sighting prey down its beak.  “This whelp has no legitimate claim to the throne at all.”

Bryallyn’s eyes narrowed.  “His claim is by blood through Maric,” she announced firmly.  “That supersedes any other claim.”

If anger were a weapon, Howe’s glare would slice her down in her spot, Bryallyn knew.  “The evidence you wish to depose your queen comes from your own lips!  You are as much a traitor to the crown as your parents were!”  

Bryallyn inhaled slowly through her nose, counting to ten as she did so to keep her temper in check.  “The treachery you seek comes from your own political machinations,” she countered in an even tone.  “Alistair’s claim has more weight than Anora’s; that of royal blood over marriage.  It will be up to the Landsmeet to decide which is of more import.  Had official protocols been followed upon the death of the king, would we even be in this position now?”  The last was barely a thought in her mind before the words escaped, and Bryallyn could have kicked herself for allowing such folly.  

“You dare accuse --!”

It was at that moment Bryallyn noticed Ser Cauthrien was present.  Bryallyn did not know the woman well, but had met her a time or two in the past.  She also knew the knight to be Loghain’s second in command at Ostagar.  The vehemence with which she spoke had Bryallyn’s brow arching in question.  “I heard no accusation being made,” she returned mildly.  “Merely an observation.”

The step Cauthrien took towards Bryallyn was menacing to say the least, but Bryallyn stood her ground.  Cauthrien stood several inches taller than her, but Bryallyn was not concerned.  She even managed to find a small smile as a rumbling growl of defense from Constant sounded beside her.  

Loghain, apparently not wishing for things to degenerate into something of a brawl, blocked Cauthrien from further advancement.  He briefly met Bryallyn’s gaze, and in them she thought she saw a measure of acknowledgement, if not respect, but she knew that would not gain her much in his eyes.  “Since you have gone to the trouble to call the Landsmeet,” he said in Eamon’s direction, “we will let them decide.”

“That is all we ask,” Eamon conceded.  

“Well,  _ that _ was bracing,” Alistair commented as Loghain, Howe, and Cauthrien turned away and left the estate.

Sighing, Eamon nodded.  “Not exactly how I wished for things to play out.”

Bryallyn snorted softly, turning to head inside with them.  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a hint of movement in the shadows and could not stop a small smile of appreciation.  Thankfully, things had not devolved to such a state requiring Zevran’s or Leliana’s intervention.  “You were not given a choice,” she pointed out to Eamon.  “I suspect that Loghain, or at the very least Howe, has had eyes watching for your arrival since word of the request for a Landsmeet was sent out.”

“True enough.”  Inside the front entryway, Eamon turned to face her.  “We have some time before the Landsmeet will be in session,” he reminded her.  “I do not expect it will begin before next week at the earliest.”

Bryallyn nodded absently.  Time would be needed for the nobles from the furthest reaches of the country to reach the capital.  “You have something in mind for us in the meantime,” she replied.  It was statement rather than question.  She knew him and his methods well enough from her years as Bryce Cousland’s daughter.

Eamon nodded, glancing between Alistair and her a couple of times in silence.  “We need as many of the nobles in support of us and our cause as possible,” he replied.  “Go.  Reach out to those who have arrived.  See if you can find any way to convince them to be in support of us before the sessions begin.  If nothing else, perhaps we can at least meet Loghain with equal footing.”

“Hmm.”

Bryallyn and Eamon both looked over at Alistair.  “Something on your mind, Alistair?” Bryallyn asked.

“What?  Oh! Sorry!”  His cheeks pinked slightly as he realized they were looking at him.  “Well, I was just thinking … is there any way we could get Anora on  _ our _ side?”

Bryallyn blinked and Eamon exclaimed, “What?”

Alistair’s cheeks darkened a bit, but he stood his ground.  “It would make things easier for us, would it not?  If the current queen agreed to support our cause?  Not only would that eliminate her as an opponent, but if Loghain and Howe protested, it would only go to prove that they are the ones behind this mess.”

Bryallyn’s lips curved upwards.  “Alistair, you are brilliant!” she told him softly.

“I am?”

She nodded.  Turning back to Eamon, she asked, “Do you think you could manage it?”

Eamon stood silent for a moment as he considered.  “To be honest, I have no idea.  We would have to find a way to convince her that we are the better option, and I am not certain she would go for that.”  He paused for another moment.  “Perhaps I will send Teagan to discuss this with her,” he continued.  “They are friends, of a sort.  Maybe if he approached her first she would be more receptive to the idea ….”  He turned away from the Wardens, walking down the hall as he considered possibilities.

Smiling up at Alistair, Bryallyn gave his armored arm a hard nudge with her shoulder.  “How does it feel?” she asked.

He blinked in confusion.  “How does what feel?”

“That idea of yours was a stroke of genius,” she told him.  “One might say a ‘royal’ stroke of genius.”

Alistair snorted before turning to generally follow after Eamon’s retreated form.  Bryallyn followed.  “Hardly,” he replied.  “It just --”

“It just nothing, Alistair.”  Bryallyn turned to face him a short while later as they entered the private apartments.  She also noticed one of the staff approaching them, gesturing for them to follow her.  “The instinct to lead is there, you only need to recognize it and accept it.”

“So I got lucky this time.”  He shrugged his shoulders as if to disassociate himself from the import of the decision.  “You know as well as I do that most of the time my ideas are terrible.”

Bryallyn nodded at the woman who opened a door and indicated she should enter.  She then pointed to another door diagonal from Bryallyn’s for Alistair before turning to leave them to their discussion.  “They are not,” Bryallyn insisted.  “Only you believe them to be.”

“Why do you think you have been leading us this entire time?” he countered, following her into her room and closing the door most of the way so that their discussion would not raise concern from others passing by.  

“Have I?”  Bryallyn paused beside the hearth and took a moment to warm her hands before she turned back to look at him.  “Who successfully negotiated with the dwarves of Orzammar to honor the treaty with the Grey Wardens?”

Alistair’s brows narrowed as he frowned.  “I would hardly call --”

“Who convinced me that it would be safer to send my child with Teagan rather than drag him across the Bannorn and through the Brecillian Forest with us?”

“Bry --”

Her brow lifted in question as she continued.  “I have willingly led this group from the beginning, yes,” she told him.  “But even if you have not made many of the major calls along the way, your strength as a leader has grown.  Do you think I’ve not seen how you guide the others in combat?  I can only do so much from range -- you know that as well as I.  It is  _ you _ who directs the others -- Sten, Oghren, Zevran and Leliana, even Constant at times! -- to where their skills are most effectively used.  The best I can do is stand back with Morrigan and Wynne and hope that my arrows strike where they are aimed.”

Alistair sighed, shoulders sagging just a bit even as he rolled them back.  “Will you not let up on this?” he asked.

“Do you or do you not wish to be king?” she challenged.

“Personally --”

“Alistair.”

He sighed again.  “Fine.  Will I be king?  I think you and Eamon both know the answer to that question, else we would not be in Denerim just now.  Do I  _ want  _ to be king?  To be quite honest, I still have mixed feelings about it.”  He shrugged.  “I think I can do some good, but is that enough basis to make a claim to the throne?  Just because I can do a thing does not mean I  _ should _ do a thing.”

Bryallyn’s lips quirked.  “And therein, my Lord  _ Theirin _ , is the answer to your question.  Because deep inside, you know you  _ can  _ do the thing and that you  _ should _ .”  

His brows darted lower, a clear sign of his confusion.  “Wait … what?”

Chuckling, Bryallyn managed a quick grin.  “I promise, I will explain it later.  But for now, I think we should freshen up and head out to play politics.”

“Play politics …?” he echoed.  “Oh!”  He turned to exit the room, grumbling incoherently beneath his breath as he left.  “I hate when you do that!” he called back from the doorway.

Her laughter continued.  “You will get used to it!” she called back before turning her attention to her things that had been deposited on the bed.  There was business to attend and she needed to change her armor to suit the battlefield.


	88. Fast and Loose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to my intrepid beta, Erynnar, without whom I’d never get through the telling of this story!
> 
> Enjoy!

 

“How do you want to do this?”

Their approach to the capital city was leisurely, some might even consider it slow, but not so much that it would draw undue attention to themselves by any who might be observing.  But they were nearing the city gates now, and a final decision had to be made on how they would enter.  A group as a whole?  Smaller groups, spread out?  Individually?  There was no real reason that anyone might be expecting them, but there was always the chance someone within their group would be recognized, and if that happened, chances were it would get back to someone they didn’t need knowing.

_Like my father._

Taking several moments of silence, Nathaniel considered the options and made minute adjustments to the plan they’d formed the night before.  “Del.”

To his left, he caught the telltale movement of his sister turning her hooded head to glance up at him.  “Yes?”

“I want you, Shaessa, and Taerian to go with Grayson.  The fewer people who see you entering the city, the better.  Grayson knows a back way into the city.  One that can get you in without too much undue notice.  He can then lead you to the _Crown and Thorn_.”  Another movement to Delilah’s left indicated Grayson’s arrival.  Nathaniel glanced over at the rogue who nodded once.  Without another word, he led Delilah and the elves ahead and eventually off to the north through the wooded area around the walled city.

“And us?”

Nathaniel glanced over at his brother by marriage.  “You and I have been seen entering the city together before,” he pointed out.  

“True enough,” Fergus agreed.  “Still, I would prefer we not carry all our eggs in one basket lest someone try wresting control of it away from us.”

Nathaniel bit back a laugh, but the right corner of his lips quirked upwards.  “You do indeed have the makings of a teyrn,” he mused dryly.  He could almost feel Fergus’ eyes darken upon him next at which point he allowed his amusement escape.

“Laugh it up all you like,” Fergus grumbled, “but I stand by my --”

Lifting his hand, Nathaniel waved his brother’s protests off.  “As do I,” he assured him quickly.  “And you are correct.  We should break into two groups this time just to be safe.  Trinion, Padraig, and Nyles will come with me.  You will enter with Rhyan and the rest.”

“Will it not seem odd for him to be in our company?” Rhyan asked.  She moved up to take Delilah’s place at Nathaniel’s left.

“Doubtful,” Nathaniel replied.  “At this point, none of us has any designations; no markings to ally us with any group in particular.  You and your men may be from the Free Marches, but your looks are as Ferelden as any of us.  My hope is that by having Fergus with people he has likely not been seen with before, should anyone see him and believe they recognize him, they will doubt themselves and think it a trick of their eyesight instead.”

“You are placing a great deal of faith in luck,” Rhyan grumbled.

“A necessary risk at this stage,” Nathaniel countered.

“I still think I should head straight for Teagan or Alfstanna,” Fergus interjected.

“Not until we know more about what exactly is going on,” Nathaniel insisted.  The rumors of the nobility gathering for a Landsmeet were still just that in his mind: rumors.  “I want to be certain you are not walking into a trap set by others.”

“Your father?” Rhyan queried.

Nathaniel shrugged noncommittally.  “My father.  Loghain.  One of the other nobles supporting their side of things.  Who is behind it does not matter at this point so much as the reason for it.”

Fergus sighed, but acknowledged the concern with a nod.  “Fair enough.”  He paused a moment before releasing a soft snort of disgust.  “I suppose I ought to find the irony of it amusing.”

Rhyan’s eyes drifted over to him.  “How so?”

“One of the arguments Rendon Howe used against my parents was that their ties with the Orlesians were too close.  Now it appears,” Fergus darted a quick look at Nathaniel whose expression remained neutral, “as if Howe could be using Orlesian political tactics against us.”

“You think he is playing the Game?”

“I once might have said he would not know how to play the game well,” Nathaniel stated mildly.  “Then again, I would never have expected him to go to the lengths he has in order to gain power.”

Silence fell briefly before Fergus broke it.  “So, I am to enter the city with Rhyan and her men.  Then what?  We should not all arrive at the inn at the same time.   _That_ would definitely trigger suspicions should anyone be watching.”

Nathaniel considered this for a moment.  “You go ahead straight to the inn,” he finally replied.  “Of all of us, I am most concerned that you will be recognized -- whether vendor, resident, noble, or one of my father’s men.  Make sure that you do not engage _any_ one just yet.  We will make our way around the Market District for a time before we head that way and scout the situation.  Our main goal today is to make it to the _Crown & Thorn _ without giving ourselves away.”

Rhyan gave both men a considering look before reaching a hand out towards them.  Nathaniel, a memory from past years alerting him, dodged the hand, but Fergus did not as it landed upon his head.

“What --?!”

Chuckling, Nathaniel clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder which had the side benefit of effectively holding him in place while Rhyan continued.  “She has the right of it, Fergus.  Being recognized as Fergus Cousland, the rightful Teyrn of Highever as we enter would only put you in unnecessary danger.”

“I could resort to Rashvine again, if you would rather?” Rhyan teased with a quick wink.

Fergus grunted, reluctantly lifting his own hand to add to the tousled mess she had made of his hair.  “Thank you, no,” he replied, his sigh the only acknowledgement of that past incident.  After a moment, he looked back over at Nathaniel.  “What about you?  While I  may not look much like my usually well kept self these days,” his hand lowered to the rough whiskers that were filling in on a face that had not seen a blade since leaving the Wending Woods, “there is no mistaking you for the son of Rendon Howe.”

Nathaniel’s lips pressed into a thin line before curving upwards into a sneer.  At the same time, his hands rose and lifted the hood of his traveling cloak, pulling it forward well enough to block his face from sight.  “No one will recognize me until I wish them to,” he assured Fergus.

Their steps brought them around a bend and onto the main road leading to the city gates.  “We should break here,” Rhyan murmured, moving in front of Nathaniel and falling into step with Fergus while her men followed behind.  She gave Nathaniel one last look over her shoulder.  “Maker guide your steps,” she murmured.  “We will meet you at the inn later.”

 

\------

 

The rooms at the _Crown & Thorn _ given for their group to use were very well situated, a fact Grayson assured Nathaniel worked well in their favor.  Practically isolated from the rest of the guests staying at the inn, they could easily come and go at their leisure through the staff access points with nary an eye aware.  Any workers who expressed more than idle curiosity were told that they were guests of the landlord, and that was enough to effectively chide them into minding their own business after that.

The first night in the city, Nathaniel led a scouting mission out consisting of himself, Grayson, Delilah and the Dalish siblings.  Quietly and carefully, they broke into two groups and gathered information as they could.  Nathaniel and Grayson focused on the patrols sent out by the City Guards and other militia forces, while Delilah, Shaessa and Taerian attempted to make contact with the alienage elves.  Their efforts produced mixed results.

“Sergeant Kylon’s men patrol here and here,” Nathaniel informed them the next evening.  A roughly sketched map of the city was laid out on the table before them. This was Fergus’ contribution to the evening, and was a bit of a surprise to all except Nathaniel who had witnessed his brother’s artistic endeavors in the past.  Tracing his finger along various streets and alleyways, he identified the areas for the others.  “I am not certain if their jurisdiction extends this far,” he drew yet another line with his finger towards an area of back alleys, “or if they simply are too lazy to patrol it on a regular basis, but Grayson and I did not run into any other patrols until we neared the Palace District.”  His eyes rose to meet the rest of those gathered.  “There was a distinct difference of ability and attention noticeable between the two groups.”

“City Guards from another district?” Fergus asked.

Nathaniel shook his head.  “These wore the bear of Amaranthine upon their shoulders.”

Delilah sighed.  “Father’s men,” she muttered.

“They are well equipped and better trained than Kylon’s men,” Grayson offered in a serious tone, but a smile softened his features and his eyes flitted to Trinion’s briefly as he concluded, “but not so well trained as us.”

Fergus chuckled.  “You can save the display of Highever loyalty for later,” he chided, though it was impossible to miss the twinkle of pride lighting his eyes.

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

Nathaniel allowed a small smile to curl his lips at one corner.

“What about over here?” Rhyan broke in, pointing to an area on the far side of the Alienage.  “If we intend to enlist the aid of the elves of the alienage --”

“This we will not be able to do.”  Though it was Delilah who spoke, Shaessa and Taerian both stepped up to either side of her.  “At least, not in the foreseeable future.”

Fergus frowned.  “What is the problem?”

“The gates were barred,” she explained.  “Closed, barred, and under armed guard.”

“We can get past Kylon’s men with little trouble,” Rhyan replied dismissively.

“ _Din’anshiral_ ,” Shaessa murmured.

“What was that?”

Delilah’s hand rose in front of the elf in a gesture meant to calm.  “Shaessa was able to get in close enough to overhear the guards speaking,” Delilah explained.  Her gaze rose to meet Rhyan’s.  “Blight sickness.”  Her words were quiet, but it was difficult to miss the effect of them as the others began shifting uneasily on their feet.

“We will find another way,” Nathaniel told them.  “There must be some elves who live or work outside of the alienage.”

“I might have a lead for you there, my lord.”  All eyes focused on Trinion.

“Lael?” Fergus asked after a moment.  

The soldier nodded.  “Unless she has completely left the city, she lived near the estate where she could be on call for your mother whenever necessary,” he explained.

Fergus nodded, memories of better times returning.  “Lael was responsible for keeping the estate in working order while we were in Highever,” he told Nathaniel.

It took a moment, but Nathaniel nodded.  “I remember her,” he replied.

Looking back over at Trinion, Fergus announced, “Tomorrow, you and I will go search for her.  I think you are correct -- if anyone would know who could help, Lael would.”

“While you do that,” Delilah broke in before her brother could assign her group a task, “we will return to the Market District to scout it out again.  If there are other elves to be found outside the alienage, I think it would be there.”

“Keep an ear out for information about this plague, too,” Nathaniel suggested after a moment.

Delilah looked over at him.  “You think it a deception of some sort?”

“The timing _is_ rather convenient,” he pointed out.  “Completely shutting off access to the alienage when the nobles are beginning to gather in the city for a Landsmeet?”

“There is sure to be talk about that,” Rhyan mused.

Fergus nodded.  “And I can think of a handful of nobles who, if present, will complain loud and long that their source of manual labor is unavailable.”  Not every noble could afford to maintain two separate estates on a year-round basis.

“I think Rhyan and I will go in search of them,” Nathaniel replied after a moment’s thought.  “Might be that we could persuade a few of them to be a bit more vocal in their protests.”

Delilah chuckled, a mischievous twinkle flickering in her eyes.  “And cause father more than a little heartburn?  I approve of this plan, brother.”


	89. Shot Through the Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> Thank you to all who have been following this story!  We are nearing the end, though there is still a ways to go.  I hope you will enjoy it as much as the rest of the story!
> 
> Next week the update may get delayed.  I tend to post this from work, but next Monday/Tuesday/Wednesday we are transitioning to a new office space, so I may not have access to the computer until later in the week.  I will do my best to remember to post it up Sunday night from home, but no promises.  Whatever the case, I will get it up just as soon as I can!
> 
> HUGE thanks and love to my beta Erynnar who has stood by me for the duration of this story!  Her input has been invaluable, even to the point of arguing with me over certain aspects of it!  She has truly made this story better!
> 
> And now …  Shall we have our intrepid pair reunite finally?  Hmm.  I think so! :D

 

 

 

“I need a drink.”

The soft snicker from beside him did little to distract Nathaniel as he strode away from from _The Drunkard’s Corner_.  Rhyan cared little about how obvious she was and Nathaniel was not in the mood to deal with it just then.  “So, just how many taverns are there in the capital do you think?” Rhyan asked.

Nathaniel’s brows dove down dangerously into a V-shape above his eyes.  “Too damned many, if you ask me,” he muttered.  This had been their third stop in search of disgruntled nobles willing to openly voice their dissatisfaction on the current state of the alienage.  Though they had found two potential leads, further investigation proved they were not of sufficient status to catch the attention of the likes of Howe or Loghain.  They would do in a pinch, and if they could find others of similar mind, but for the moment they were still hunting.

“My lord, if I may?”

It was unusual for Nyles to speak up unless there was a very good reason or their lives were in immediate danger, and for this reason alone Nathaniel gave the soldier his full attention.  “Yes?”

Nyles quickly brought himself alongside Nathaniel so that his words could still be spoken soft enough most others on the busy city streets would not overhear.  “When Teyrn Cousland was in need of finding like-minded nobles, he often went to _The Gnawed Noble_.”

“Like-minded is not exactly what we are in search of today, unless they are like-minded with our views,” Rhyan reminded the man.

Grayson joined the discussion.  “The nobility favor the _Gnawed Noble_ no matter their particular political views,” he explained.  “You would be just as likely to find supporters for Loghain there as you would the Couslands.”

Nathaniel sighed, nodding slowly.  “He has the right of it, Rhy, though I will admit I was hoping to avoid it altogether for now.”

Rhyan frowned at this admission.  “Why, if we might find what we want there?  Is that not the place we went last time we were in Denerim?”

“Exactly.  We have been seen there before, whether by nobility or locals, and we cannot risk the chance of being readily recognized just now.”  He sighed again, hand rising to rub at the back of his neck.  “But it may be our only viable option at this point.”

“I am still not clear why, other than being recognized, you do not want to go there,” Rhyan continued.

“The nobles who frequent the place are among the more well known,” Nathaniel tried to explain.  “Some of them _too_ well known, if you get my meaning.  While we could likely find exactly what we want there, along with them could be attached notoriety that we do not necessarily wish to be associated with.”

“I am familiar with Cyril,” Grayson reminded them.  “I could speak with him, see if he might be able to assist us with our meetings?  He has some back rooms, _private_ rooms, that are used for meetings that are not meant for prying eyes.”

Nathaniel ran his hand over his face, but nodded.  “Go on ahead and speak with him,” he allowed.  “If he will work with us, perhaps we can get inside without being noticed.”

Rhyan chuckled at the growing growl of frustration emerging with each word Nathaniel spoke.  “And you can have that drink you need, too,” she added with a sassy grin.

Nathaniel offered her a glare this time.  “That too.”

 

* * *

 

“I need a drink.”

Following behind her, Alistair responded to Bryallyn’s off-hand comment with Leliana and Wynne beside him, “That bad, huh?”

Bryallyn snorted softly, pausing her steps to wait for the others to catch up.  “I’ve never been fond of this sort of political hobnobbing and games,” she said, admitting her secretly held fear to them softly.  “But having to do it beneath the ever watchful eyes of the very people we are trying to stop?”  She shuddered, the movement rippling its way through the fabric of the dress she currently wore.  Each battlefield had its own set of armor.  “Definitely need a drink.  Maybe two.”  She sighed, hand rising to rub at the back of her neck in an unconscious movement.  “Maybe more.”

Leliana chuckled softly in amusement but was quick to murmur approving noises.  “You are managing splendidly,” she said.  “Look how far we have come!  And to think, they cannot touch you here!”

Bryallyn’s eyes narrowed at her bard companion.  “If you believe that ….”

“You are doing a better job than I ever could,” Alistair reminded her lightly and only half jesting as he nudged her arm gently with his elbow.  “And, we still have our pants.  That’s something.”

Everyone laughed at that observation, Bryallyn included.  Moments later, Wynne nodded across the market district.  “Why do we not head over to the _Gnawed Noble_?  I’m certain we can find something to satisfy your needs there, and we may yet find more of the nobles Arl Eamon suggested we approach.”

Bryallyn eyed the mage for a moment, not failing to miss the twinkle in the older woman’s eyes.  “Why do I suspect this is going to cost me more coppers than usual?” she asked.

Giving Bryallyn a carefully crafted look of innocence, the mage walked past her, winked, and murmured, “Why, Warden, I have _no_ idea what you are suggesting!”  Alistair and Leliana both started laughing again, and Bryallyn soon followed.  Wynne’s love of the vine was generally acknowledged and accepted among their small traveling group, and in all honesty, Bryallyn did not mind the occasional splurge.  The woman was their life saver, after all.  She deserved it.

 

 

* * *

 

Leery of exposing his visage to the crowd within, it was with great reluctance that Nathaniel lowered the hood to his cloak as they entered.  While he would prefer to leave it up to obscure his physical details, to do so would set him more out of place than if someone outright recognized him.  Still, he took no chances and ushered Rhyan and her men inside before him leaving Grayson and Nyles to bring up the rear.  Per Grayson’s information, they were to head inside and directly to the room set aside for their use.  He _might_ have managed to sneak by most of the clientele inside before lowering the hood, but it was an unnecessary risk to take at this late date.

As he crossed over the threshold, Nathaniel was overcome briefly by a wave of nostalgia.  From the sounds of things, the common room was full.  There were the usual sounds of tankards and plates and voices rumbling in conversation, but unlike their last visit, the volume was considerably louder.  And it wasn’t simply due to voices raised in conversation.  Once inside the room, Nathaniel could have sworn he felt the press of the crowds against him physically, despite the fact there was still plenty of space available for movement.  

“This way, my lord,” Grayson murmured, stepping around Nathaniel to his right to lead the way.  Nathaniel nodded at Rhyan and her men to follow.  He had taken only a handful of steps when he heard a soft gasp from behind him and Grayson stopped dead in his tracks.  Frowning, he glanced back at Nyles first to find the man’s eyes riveted up ahead.  Turning back, he found Grayson staring in the same direction, and when his eyes followed ….

 

* * *

 

 

“Thank you for your time, Bann Alfstanna,” Bryallyn murmured as she rose to her feet.  

The Bann followed suit, extending an arm to clasp Bryallyn’s in a warrior’s salute.  “Your parents were as dear to me as if they were my own family,” Alfstanna murmured softly.  “I will do what I can to assist you, but I fear that many will find it difficult to do so during these troubled times.”

Bryallyn afforded the woman a tired smile.  “I understand.”  Squeezing her arm, she added, “My parents often spoke fondly of you.  It’s good to know it was reciprocated.”

Alfstanna’s smile was as sad as it was grateful.  “Thank you.”

Turning, Bryallyn looked up at Alistair.  Beyond his shoulder, she could see both Wynne and Leliana standing at the bar speaking with Cyril.  “I am all out of ideas,” she murmured to her fellow Warden, leading him towards the bar to lift the drink Cyril set there for her.  Taking a long pull, she sighed, eyes closing briefly.  “Maker’s breath, I am not cut out for this!”

“And I am?” Alistair countered.

Bryallyn downed the rest of her drink in two gulps, setting her tankard aside and waving off a refill.  “No thank you, Cyril.  Perhaps later.”  She looked at the others.  “We should return to the estate and inform Arl Eamon of our varying levels of success,” she informed them.  

Leliana and Wynne nodded, their drinks already empty.  Alistair finished his off and nodded.  “After you, fearless leader,” he quipped.

Snorting softly, Bryallyn turned towards the exit …

… and drew in a deep, sharp breath at the soldier she nearly ran over in the process.  “Grayson?” she breathed.  It took a long, confused minute for her brain to match the recognition with the man and recall that he had been one of the knights her father sent to travel with Nathaniel to the Free Marches so many months ago.

Still half surrounded by Rhyan and the rest of their group who clambered awkwardly to a stop around him, Nathaniel sighed in frustration.  He was not in the mood to play games, especially if their identities were at stake the longer they stood out in the open of the common area, and he pushed his companions forward until he could step around them.  What he did not expect was the sudden rush as his breath left his lungs in an unexpected whoosh, his eyes locking on to the familiar form that had been haunting his waking and sleeping hours for nearly a year.  Swallowing tightly, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was imagining her standing before him now -- he’d been looking for so long!  “Bry?” he rasped harshly, finally managing to push himself between Grayson and Rhyan so he could close the distance to his wife.  

The room around them grew silent, as even the most inebriated of clientele seemed to understand that an event of epic proportion was taking place around them.  The change in atmosphere was tangible.  

First, a moment of disbelief mixed with panic, but that shifted quickly to recognition that hit her with the weight and force of a physical slap across the face which in turn precipitated the current battle raging inside of her head.   _How can it be …?!_ Bryallyn tried to speak, but only a gasping, strangled sound emerged.  Behind her, vaguely, she could hear her companions whispering in concern at her behavior, but she could not give them her undivided attention or reassurances just then.  Not when her husband stood before her, living and breathing!Without thought, or realization of her own actions even, she slowly moved in his direction.

They stopped once again less than a foot apart; close enough to feel each other's’ breaths wash softly across the skin; to see the wariness, the hooded unease behind nearly shuttered eyes; hope warring with fear ....  Too much time had passed, too many dreams shattered ....

“Nathaniel ...?”

It was the sound of her voice -- the tone, the utter longing, desire, all mixed with a touch of fear in the soft yet achingly familiar sound that moved him into action.  With a speed that caused gasps around the room at its unexpectedness, and had more than one man to take a step in their direction to protect her, Nathaniel reached out and pulled her to him, lifting his other hand to her cheek in a motion so gentle, so careful it belied the desperation and fierceness of the kiss as he captured her lips.

With a cry of sheer joy, Bryallyn threw her arms around her husband’s neck and held him close as he lifted her off the floor.  Seconds later, he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against her as as he set her back upon her feet.  Only then did he breathe, “You are here?  I am not imagining this, am I?!”  His hands drifted over her face, seeing with his fingers as well as his eyes and reinforcing that she was not just a figment of his overstressed imagination.

Not until his calloused fingers began wiping moisture from her cheeks did Bryallyn realize she’d begun crying.  “Nathaniel!” she breathed before throwing her arms around his waist, pulling him close and holding him tightly.  “Oh, Maker, it is you!  You came back!”

Nathaniel groaned, lifting her again, wrapping his arms tight around her.  Pain shot through his chest; anguish and pure dread at the thought of what happened to her and the entire Cousland family during his absence, and the knowledge that it had been because of his own father.  His attention was caught a moment later as a strong hand landed upon his shoulder.  Blinking his eyes open, he came face to face with a large, dark blond soldier who looked vaguely familiar though Nathaniel could not quite place him.  He was nodding off towards the private rooms located down nearby hall.  At the same time, Nathaniel heard Grayson murmur, “My lord, we should move.”  Nodding stiffly, Nathaniel followed, Bryallyn still gathered close in his arms.

Alistair looked back at Wynne and Leliana who followed without comment.  Though he wasn’t quite sure who the man Bryallyn had thrown herself at was, he could guess easily enough.  That said, he also noticed that the group as a whole was rapidly becoming the center of attention in the tavern and he suspected that Bryallyn, at least, would not want that right now.  His suggestion of a private room was met well enough, if the man’s companion’s words were anything to go by, and the rest of his group followed after Wynne and Leliana.  One last look back, Alistair made eye contact with Cyril.  No words were spoken, but the barkeep nodded immediately in understanding and started herding his crew up to begin dispersing the customers.  Today they would be closing early.

Alistair passed one female and two male soldiers who had set themselves up as guards outside the door when he rejoined the others.  Inside the room, he quickly spotted Bryallyn on the lap of the man he presumed was her husband, both now seated on a nearby couch, arms still wrapped desperately around the other.  Wynne sat near as well, speaking softly to Nathaniel, rubbing a hand against Bryallyn’s back in soothing motions.  

Alistair’s gaze dropped to Leliana’s as she moved beside him.  “What have you found out?”

“He is Nathaniel Howe,” she whispered back.  “Bryallyn’s husband.”

Alistair nodded.  “I guessed as much.”  He glanced around the room.  Two other soldiers stood within calling distance of the pair, one of whom Alistair recognized as the man who had spoken to Howe and convinced him to retreat to this room.

For long minutes, Bryallyn rested with her head on Nathaniel’s shoulder, sitting silent and still save for the movements necessary for breathing.  She said nothing aloud and neither did he, but their fingers roamed freely, touching familiar planes and textures, speaking a language that had no audible words.  After a while, Bryallyn finally managed to lift her head.  “I can hardly believe this!  I was afraid I had lost you forever!”

He groaned softly, eyes closing as he leaned his forehead against hers.  “I heard what had happened at Highever,” he choked out, “but by then it was too late.  I --”  Nathaniel’s large frame actually shuddered hard enough to shake himself and Bryallyn.  “I almost went mad,” he admitted at last, “thinking you were gone.  I’ve been searching for you for months.”

Bryallyn started to explain then; about the attack on Highever, the loss of her parents and Oriana and Oren, of her daring escape with Duncan and Constant.  Brokenly, she explained about Ostagar: becoming a Grey Warden, the abandonment of the battle by Loghain and his men, the complete and utter destruction of Ferelden’s armies and king.

While she spoke, Nathaniel listened.  With each word, he felt the anger and frustration that had been eating away at him since Devlyn’s attack and later admission of guilt stirred back to life.  It was enough distraction that, when Bryallyn suddenly stiffened in his arms, it startled him.  “Bry?  What is it?” he asked.

“Y-you do know it was your father responsible for the murder of my family?”

Nathaniel’s look went suddenly blank, and he sat back from her.  “Did you never read the letter I wrote?  The warning I sent as soon as we reached the Free Marches?” he asked incredulously.

Bryallyn looked up into his clouded eyes.  “How could I?  Not even a day after you left we were attacked.”

Groaning, Nathaniel pulled her back to him, cradling her head at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.  “I wrote to you on board ship,” he explained, “to tell you some things I overheard as I left, some of the things that occurred on board ship.  I sent the letter as soon as I could, but not before I arrived in the Free Marches.”  

Bryallyn sat up and kept her gaze upon him, waiting for the rest.

His hands rose to frame her face as he held her gaze.  “Bry, my father sent someone after me as well.  Devlyn was bought, as much as I hate to admit it, and attacked me aboard ship. When we got to the Free Marches, we discovered that my father was responsible for the destruction of Lord Doran Antell and his family.”

Bryallyn gasped in horror, her hand lifting to cover her mouth.  Closing her eyes tightly, she began thinking back to those days before his departure.  The memories, half-dreams began flooding back ....

Nathaniel felt her body tighten on his lap again and he glanced down at her.  She lifted her head, slowly finding his gaze again, and he saw a wariness there.  “What?”

“That night at the lodge ...?”

Nathaniel nodded, remembering.  “I believe he was behind that too,” he told her before wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close so he could speak quietly in her ear.  “I’m so sorry, Bry,” he whispered.  “I should have recognized the signs sooner ...”

Bryallyn pushed back and covered his lips with her fingers.  “Nathaniel, don’t,” she told him.  She looked up and held his gaze.  “If your father had shown any indications of his intent, my parents and others who had known him longer would have noticed.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to argue; to deny that and insist that he should have seen it first seeing that the man was his own flesh and blood, but he stopped himself.  The truth of the matter was, she was right in all respects.  It did nothing to assuage his guilt, however.

Bryallyn looked up at the two men standing nearby, familiar faces.  “I see you still have Grayson and Nyles with you,” she told her husband.  “Dare I ask what happened to Trinion or Padraig?”

This time it was Nathaniel who froze in place.  “Maker’s breath!” he groaned, moving to assist her to her feet.  Rising beside her, he announced, “They are alive and well, have  no fear on that account.  As is your brother.”

Bryallyn, turning to gesture Alistair and Leliana in closer, stumbled at that announcement before she spun back around on her heel and faced him again.  “Fergus?” she whispered, eyes widening in shock.

Nathaniel nodded.  “The story is long and convoluted and will take more time in its telling than we should spend here,” he told her.  “But, yes.  Fergus lives.  He is in our company now, here in Denerim.  He and Trinion went to look for Lael while Rhyan and I were looking for --”

Steps near the doorway caught Bryallyn’s attention.  “I heard my name called?”

Bryallyn glanced over at the other woman, their eyes meeting briefly before the other woman looked away.  “Rhyan Meyrick, Bryallyn Cousland-Howe.  We squired together with Lord Antell,” he added for Bryallyn’s benefit.

Rhyan scowled.  “Before your father murdered my family, you mean,” she bit out angrily.

Bryallyn sighed.  “Your father is developing a rather unhealthy habit of doing that,” she murmured.

Nathaniel snorted softly.  “You will get no argument from me,” he assured her.  “Delilah is with us, too.”

“Maker’s breath, I need to sit down!” Bryallyn breathed, dropping back to the couch.  

“Trust me,” he told her as he knelt beside her, “when I tell you that you will never in a thousand years guess what she has been up to these past months.”

Bryallyn wrapped a hand around his and squeezed.  “I can imagine it’s been difficult for her.”

Nathaniel actually laughed.  “There is difficult and then there is … well, I will let her explain it to you.  Suffice it to say she surprised the likes of me.  In a good way,” he added.

Bryallyn ran her free hand over her face for a moment, unwilling to release her hold on Nathaniel now that they were reunited.  “Can we … could we go find Fergus?” she asked, looking up at him.  “I need to see him.  I need to know ….”

Nathaniel pulled her up beside him and nodded.  “We are staying at the _Crown & Thorn_,” he told her.

“Hardly the most reputable of places.”

Nathaniel’s gaze shifted to the tall blond man who helped guide him and Bryallyn to the room.  “It suits our purposes,” he responded, “and the landlord supports our cause.”

“Which is?”

Sighing, Bryallyn released her hold on Nathaniel and positioned herself between him and Alistair.  Facing her fellow Warden, she reminded him, “It is more reputable than some we have come upon in our travels.  And,” her gazed drifted over towards Grayson, brow rising in question.  When he nodded in return, she smiled and finished, “if memory serves, the landlord and his family are staunch supporters of Highever and the Couslands.”

“Until our dying breaths,” Grayson assured her.

Bryallyn smiled.  “I hope that will not be necessary.”  Turning back to Alistair, she added, “You have trusted me this far.  Will you stop now?”

His brow narrowing as he considered, he eventually shook his head.  “I can hardly do that since, as you have said, you have brought us this far.”

“Grayson’s family has been loyal to the Couslands and Highever for generations,” she assured him.  “Their family runs many of the inns and taverns across the country.  I had forgotten until just now ….”

“I suspect you have had more important things to focus on during your travels, my lady,” Grayson replied with a grin.  “Do not fret over it.”

Looking up at Nathaniel, she asked, “Can we please go find Fergus now?”

“They should be back I should think,” Rhyan commented.

Nathaniel looked over at Alistair, saw him nod, and replied, “Of course.”  Leading Bryallyn towards the door, he wrapped her hand securely in his and murmured, “Forgive me if I hold too tight.  I have no wish to lose you again.”

Bryallyn laughed softly, ignoring the light stain of pink on her cheeks, all the while tightening her hand in his.  “Nor do I wish to lose you.”

  



	90. Where Griffons Come to Roost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks always to my beta, Erynnar, who keeps me straight and true! This isn't a super long chapter, but one I felt necessary to explore if only to help me sort out a few things for later!
> 
> Heads up -- there is heavily hinted at torture in this chapter, but nothing too specific; blood mention.

The soft crackle of the fire in the hearth, a snifter of an appropriately aged Antivan brandy close at hand, and the knowledge of certain individuals within his grasp went a long way to satisfying the Arl of Denerim.  The servants knew better than to approach his suite at the end of a busy day unless he asked for them -- and this day had been busier than most.  Eyeing the amber liquid in his glass, he considered that he might require an additional bottle of brandy to help him fully relax.  That, however, was something he could handle because his room was situated such that he was within easy walking distance of the wine cellar.  And, as fate would have it, the very descending staircase leading there also forked off in the opposite direction to his ‘office’ below, and the very special guest currently in residence ….

* * *

 

_“Tell me how you came to be in Ferelden.”  His voice rumbled low and smooth as silk as he spoke.  The demand -- and they both knew it to be one despite the deceptively calm demeanor the Arl currently presented -- hung heavily in the air between them.  His guest had seen better days as he was held in place by two of the Arl’s soldiers, but that was hardly Rendon’s concern.  He had questions that required answers, and the lack of cooperation was not providing the desired results.  How was he to provide intelligence to the Regent if he could not get straight answers?_

_“I am here ... to fight … the Blight.”_

_Rendon grunted softly.  It was an acknowledgement only that the words were spoken aloud.  “I asked you how, not why,” he reiterated, his voice drawing out the words.  “The why is as obvious as the markings on the armor you were wearing when you arrived.”_

_Again, all that greeted his reasonable request was silence and Rendon sighed heavily.  His eyes, dark with purpose, flicked across the room briefly and landed upon another man standing next to the wall.  Between them, a quick look of understanding passed; this was not the first time they had worked together, after all.  Nor would it be the last._

_“It is most unfortunate that you will not cooperate,” Rendon continued, taking a step backwards from his prisoner and moving out of the way so that his companion could take his position.  The creak of leather gloves sliding into place, each finger slowly and deliberately settling around one finger at a time, echoed throughout the room.  Rendon kept his eyes upon the Warden looking for any telltale signs of distress or that he might be ready to crack.  In his experience, there were two types of people: those who broke immediately, the mere thought of suffering excruciating pain enough to push them to do his bidding; and those who stubbornly refused until the sharp bite of pain took hold.  The majority of these last thought to make a point, holding to whimsical notions of loyalty and bravado, but they, too, fell in the end._

_This one, however, was proving to be more than just a little stubborn._ How typical of an Orlesian to mask his true nature _, Rendon thought._

_The Grey Wardens were known to him, of course.  The legends and tales of their successes against the Blights of the past were common knowledge to almost all who lived in Thedas.  Even he could claim ties, though the exact nature of which was difficult to discern.  A distant cousin, Padric Howe, was known to have left to join their ranks years before, though little was ever heard from the man again._

_None of that mattered now._

_“I will know how you came to be in this country,” he reiterated, slowly circling the group._

_His men held the Warden beneath his arms, firmly upright though his head flopped forward, chin tucked to his chest.  A slow rivulet of blood trickled from one nostril, curving a meandering path around the side of his lip, slowed only by the rough scruff of whiskers days old since their last scraping until it reached the edge of his chin.  There each drop slowly, methodically, launched, dropping to an ever growing pool on the stone floor beneath, combining with the evidence of other injuries to greater or lesser degrees._

_The Warden’s breath was an irregular wheezing rasp, each labored movement a clear struggle.  And yet, his stubbornness persisted.  “I came … the Blight …”_

_“We have no proof of your Blight,” Rendon sneered, “save the word of a few self-important fools like yourself.”_

_“It … it is … true,” he rasped, “and only … only WE … can end it.”_

_Rendon nodded at the sergeant who was quick to drive home yet another blow to the Warden’s midsection.  It was followed by a soft groan that petered out when the man’s body collapsed upon itself into unconsciousness._

_Sighing in disgust, Rendon ordered, “Put him back in his cell until he regains consciousness.”_

 

* * *

 

Now standing before the fire with eyes focused on the flickering flames as he sipped the brandy in hand, Rendon considered the options open to him.  He had no standing orders where the Orlesian Warden was concerned.  It had been pure and simple luck the man had fallen into his hands to begin with.  A fortunate sighting by one of his soldiers in the Market District.  Griffons were rather unique heraldic devices, after all.  Rendon rewarded the man quickly, promoting him within the ranks, reminding the rest of his men the benefits to success, along with the subtlest of hints at the price of failure.  

But the Warden was proving to be stronger than he’d anticipated, and what he’d thought would only take a matter of days had been dragging on for weeks now.  With his continued lack of cooperation, there was little Rendon could do to help the Regent solidify his position -- a position that was, over time, beginning to fray around the edges.  Rendon hoped for some information -- anything he might be able to use -- that not only would benefit the Regent, but in the long run might grant him some favor.  The bite of failure from the Crow assassin still had some sting, though Loghain did not appear to recall it had been Rendon’s suggestion in the first place.  That was good, at least.  Still, he understood the way the game of politics worked.  Information was a weapon he could wield just as effectively as his blades, and information about the Wardens outside of Ferelden was the sharpest of blades with Loghain.  With it, not only could he pull the Regent firmly to his side -- this Warden spoke with the telltale hint of Orlais on his voice.  Surely, Loghain would see that as more of a threat than the Wardens themselves? -- but he could hopefully put the queen into her place once and for all.

He took a long pull from the glass, eyes drifting down to watch as an ember popped from the fire, landing on the hearth near his boot.  It flickered for a moment, attempting to flare up to something brighter and stronger, but in the long run it was left alone to die.  

 _The queen._  

Loghain’s daughter was becoming more troublesome as time passed.  While she did not side with those against Rendon and her father just yet, it would only be a matter of time.  She was a threat to his ambitions, to say the least, and a much greater one to the overall safety and security of Ferelden.  How close had he come to convincing Loghain of that the last time they had spoken, only for the woman to enter the room -- without knocking!  The nerve! -- and talk her father back down.  

Eyes narrowing, he now stared into the fire itself as the bud of an idea began to bloom.  The only option, as far as he could see, was to remove her.  Permanently, if possible, temporarily if no other way presented itself.  He would have to be careful.  If the woman’s handmaiden, that blasted elf who was much more than she seemed, got wind of his intentions, she might cause problems.  If Loghain heard anything about it, if Rendon did not set up the circumstances just right, then he could fall from grace just as easily as he had climbed.  Still, if he managed to succeed ….

 


	91. Blood Is Thicker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting! The holiday ended up busier and crazier than I thought it would. Anyway, next chapter is here!
> 
> Thanks as always to my fabulous beta, Erynnar!

Word was sent ahead, no doubt one of the Highever men taking it upon himself to warn Fergus that his sister indeed still lived, and it resulted in a change of plans.  Instead of heading towards the inn where Nathaniel and his group were staying, they relocated to the Arl of Redcliffe’s estate.  Closer by, it also offered privacy for the upcoming family reunion.

Once arrived, Alistair, Wynne and Leliana removed themselves to find the Arl himself and update him to recent events, leaving Bryallyn time to sit down with her husband and speak with him alone for the first time in much too long.  

That didn’t last, of course.  As soon as Arl Eamon was informed he insisted upon seeing the truth with his own eyes.     

The door to the library opened with some force behind it, clear evidence that the Arl was feeling more and more himself with each passing day.  “Did I hear correctly?” he called out, a row of shelves hindering his view where Bryallyn and Nathaniel both were seated.  “The Arl of Amaranthine’s son lives?”

Jumping to her feet, Bryallyn turned to face the man as he rounded the stacks and strode towards them.  A testament to her current emotional state, she immediately jumped to the defensive at the Arl’s words and the suggestion lying therein.  “My _husband_ is alive, yes,” she replied with uncharacteristic fierceness.

Eamon’s face softened a bit, his shoulders eased, and a smile curved upwards behind his beard.  “This is good news, indeed!” he told her a bit more gently than before.  Stepping forward, he offered his hand to Nathaniel.  “Very good news!”

Nathaniel’s hand slipped across Bryallyn’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly as the Arl came closer.  When he extended his arm, Nate released his hold on his wife and immediately clasped the older man forearm to forearm.  After a quick smile at Bryallyn, he looked back to the Arl.  “I am inclined to agree with you, my lord.”

Eamon chuckled and gestured at them to sit.  Pulling another chair closer, he too sat and, though his facial expression did not change, his tone became more sober.  “You do realize, son, that your father was behind --”

Nathaniel nodded quickly to cut him off.  “I am aware,” he said quietly, his hand reaching over to capture Bryallyn’s and squeeze. “Not only did the man destroy Highever and my second family, but he managed to turn one of my best friends against me.  Trust me when I say that I want justice brought as much as you or Bryallyn or Fergus.”

“Fergus?”  The Arl glanced around as if searching for the elder Cousland.  “Did he survive, too?  I’d heard he was lost at Ostagar.”

“He survived, yes.  I found him among the Chasind months ago.  They found him after he and his men were attacked by the darkspawn and took him in, healing him.  When we --”

“We?”

Nathaniel offered an apologetic smile.  “Forgive me, my lord.  My traveling companions and I -- the Highever men Bryce Cousland sent with me to the Free Marches and an old friend from my days of training there and two of her men who survived yet another attack for which my father was responsible,” he explained.  “When we returned to Ferelden, we traveled to Ostagar after hearing that was where Bryallyn fled.  Though she and I did not cross paths, some of the Chasind found us.  They brought us to their camp, to Fergus.  They did not know at the time we were acquainted with one another.  Since then, he has traveled with us.”

“Remarkable,” Eamon breathed, looking quite stunned by Nathaniel’s words.  “I wonder if your father …?”

From the outer hall, a gathering of voices began to rise.  Though just a soft hum at first, it did not take long before one rose above the others, frustration and hope mingling together.  “Where is my sister?”

Bolting to her feet, Bryallyn darted a quick look over at Nathaniel who smiled, releasing her hand and nodding at her to go.  She needed no further encouragement and hurried around the book stacks towards the exit to the room.

Stepping out into the hall, she found Shale blocking the path and in front of the golem, she could hear the unmistakable irritation in her brother’s voice.  Reaching out, Bryallyn placed a hand upon Shale’s arm and stepped to its right side.  “Shale,” she murmured, “you may let him pass.”

The golem glanced down at her and muttered, “As it wishes.”  Only then did it step to its left, allowing the two siblings to face one another for the first time in a year.

Their eyes met first.  After a pause that seemed to last a lifetime, Fergus’s shoulders eased, his frame less battle-ready and more welcoming as he opened his arms to her.  Bryallyn’s lips trembled as she smiled and launched herself at him.  “Fergus!” she breathed on a sob.

“Pup.”  His voice was no less shaky than hers as he drew her close, and refused to let go for a good few minutes.

From the doorway, Nathaniel watched the Cousland siblings embrace.  He understood possibly better than any of the others just what this moment meant to the two of them.  While relief had been the overwhelming factor when he and Delilah reunited, for Fergus and Bryallyn it was something more than that.  Nathaniel never worried at Delilah’s fate at their father’s hands.  Though somewhat surprised that Rendon was able to successfully convince Devlyn to attack him aboard ship, Delilah had never given their father cause for such a reaction.  If anything, Rendon likely would have viewed her as a pawn for a political marriage to help advance his status.  

A movement coming from the front of the estate caught Nathaniel’s gaze and he looked over to find Delilah, Rhyan, Trinion and the others being led inside.  Walking over, he met them and pulled Delilah close for a quick hug which she returned, no questions asked.  “Things are beginning to look up for us, I think,” he announced quietly to the group.

Delilah glanced around him, her eyes lighting upon Fergus and Bryallyn, a smile curving up at her lips.  “I believe you may be right on that account, brother.”

 

~ n ~

 

As private reunions went, Bryallyn and Fergus were given the time and space necessary to ease their way back into one another’s presence surrounded by those who cared most for them and had their best interests at heart.  Though it could be difficult to find, especially being of noble birth as they were and therefore spending most of their lives in plain view of the country, this was one occasion where the rest of their traveling companions were in agreement that it could happen, no matter the cost.  

Which meant, of course, that word of it got around the city with the speed of fire and resulted in anything but.

Messages began trickling in once it became known that not one, but two Couslands survived the events of Highever the year before, but the quantity and speed with which they arrived picked up throughout the rest of the afternoon.  Along with the messages also came choice bits of gossip.  Included among this were many nobles who offered immediate and open support of Fergus’ claim to the teyrnship of Highever, whether due to acknowledged past allegiances or concern for potential retribution if they did not.  Other missives, though carefully worded to sound thankful for their safe return, were more neutral in their tone when it came to actual support.  Not all that surprising, really, when the current state of flux in which the crown sat remained just as uncertain.

And still other messages arrived in person.  True friends, born from those whom Bryce and Eleanor Cousland had considered close enough to be almost family, began arriving at the Arl of Redcliffe’s estate.  Eamon sent for his brother before Fergus could even begin to relate the tale of his adventures.  His mission to convince his fellow nobles to support Alistair’s claim to the throne between interviews and thus interrupted, Teagan made his way back to the estate without hesitation.  Alfstanna, too, was sent word by Bryallyn and arrived just after Teagan, though Bryallyn suspected the Bann was able to put the pieces of this particular puzzle together well enough given events back at the _Gnawed Noble_ she’d witnessed.  Bann Sighard, Arl Bryland, and even Arl Wulff stopped by for brief visits, arriving with skeptical looks and concern for some act of deception but ultimately leaving with a much more hopeful outlook.  

No seer or fortune teller was required for Bryallyn to realize the import of the reunion.  Catching her brother’s attention during a brief respite between visitors, she pulled him to one side.

Fergus sighed, suspecting he knew what Bryallyn was about to ask him.  “Their loyalty, I think, is for Mother and Father,” he murmured.

Bryallyn sighed but managed a smile of reassurance for him.  He was ready for this -- he _had_ to be.  “To a point, perhaps, but their true loyalty is to their rightful teyrn,” she chided gently.  “They’ve seen you beside Father for years.  They expect you in that position.  Why would they change now?”

He tilted his head and looked down at her.  “Because I have been in hiding for months?” he offered.  Her eyes narrowed, and Fergus sighed.  Lifting his hand, he waved off her arguments.  “I know, I know,” he told her.  “Timing is everything.  How many times did Father teach us _both_ that over the years?”

Bryallyn nodded.  “You needed time to heal,” she agreed.  “Time to assess the situation.  Walking back into Highever with an army of a dozen soldiers at most would hardly have won you back the teyrnir, and they know this.  It is as much a political battle as it is a physical one.”  She reached out and grasped his hand, her thumb rubbing gently over the Cousland signet he now wore.  “You were born for this,” she reminded him.  “Mother and Father taught you everything there is to know.  I have no doubt you can do it.”  Her eyes drifted up from the ring to meet his.  “Do you?”

“Does it matter?” he countered immediately.  He turned his hand around hers and squeezed it immediately afterwards, another sigh slipping past his lips.  “Don’t mind me, Pup,” he told her.  “I will do what I must.  I just wish the circumstances had been different is all.”

“I know.”  

They could hear voices calling from the outer hall, and Bryallyn straightened her shoulders.  “Sounds like someone else has arrived, _Your Grace_.”  She gave her brother a quick smile that twinkled brightly in her eyes.  “Shall we go and greet them?”

Fergus managed a short laugh and offered her his arm.  “Who shall impress them the most this time, I wonder?” he teased.  “Their new teyrn, or his sister the Grey Warden?”

“A sovereign says it’s you,” she quipped back.

Fergus led her to the doorway and glanced out to see who the newcomer was.  He grinned down at her.  “Two sovereigns say it’s you,” he whispered before stepping out to join Arl Eamon and formally greet the new arrival.

 

~ n ~

 

Though Bryallyn wouldn’t have traded the outcome of this particular night for anything -- not only was she finally reunited with her husband and her brother, but now they had a much better chance and finding support from among the other nobles for Alistair’s claim to the throne -- anxiety of an altogether different sort was beginning to stalk her steps when finally she broke free from the rest of the group for the night.  She quickly sought out her husband, her eyes focused on solely on him as he started out of the doorway from the dining hall.  A few quick steps and she caught up to him, reaching out and tugging on his hand to pull him to a halt.  “Wait, please,” she begged softly, pulling him off to a quiet corner away from the madness of the others now filing out of the room behind them.

Nathaniel followed without question -- Maker knew he’d been seeking a way to break away from the others so he might spend some time reacquainting himself with his wife after so long apart -- but concern had him frowning down at her briefly as he recognized the tension surrounding her just then.  “What is it?”

Bryallyn chewed on her lower lip for a moment.  There was still one thing she had left to do, something she probably should have done sooner, but this was a reunion that would require much more in the way of privacy than this afternoon’s events had afforded them.  Glancing around, she waited until the hall was mostly cleared.  “Come with me?”

“Of course.”

Relief flowing through her, Bryallyn led Nathaniel into the interior of the estate, following a now familiar, if somewhat winding, path until she came to a halt before a closed door.  “There is someone else I want you to meet,” she announced softly, reaching out to open it.  

Nathaniel saw her hand tremble slightly as it rose to the handle and his frown darkened -- _why is she so nervous around me?_ \-- but he nodded his agreement.  When Bryallyn lifted her finger to her lips to signal silence, he nodded again without hesitation and followed her inside the room ....

Bryallyn nodded at the servant seated inside the room, dismissing her from her duties before she crossed over to the small bed.  Half leaning over it, she paused only briefly, her gaze focusing on the child.  Their worlds were about to change dramatically in the next heartbeat, and though she had no reason to think it would be for anything but the better, her earlier anxiety returned with a vengeance.  

 _Pup, we Couslands always do what must be done_ , she heard her father’s voice echo inside her head.  The thought of not telling Nathaniel had never occurred to her; he deserved to know, _needed_ to know, but with the moment now here, for reasons she could not put words to, she wanted to hold back.  

Still, the gently mental reminder was enough to stir her into action.  Swallowing tightly, Bryallyn lifted the baby gently into her arms.  Tucking him carefully against her shoulder, one hand cradling his head and the other wrapped securely around his tiny body, she took a deep breath and turned towards her husband.  The child fussed for a moment, but Bryallyn murmured softly and that seemed to do the trick.  With a slight smile tilting at her lips, she lifted her eyes to meet her husband’s in the dimly lit room.  Barely breathing, she said softly, “Nathaniel, I want to introduce you to your son ....”

Of all the things Nathaniel might have expected her to say, this was not among them.  His eyes widened in shock and surprise as a soft gasp escaped him.  “A - a son?” he managed after a few moments.    

Bryallyn nodded.  “Bryce Nathaniel Howe.  He’s almost three months old.”  

He did the math in his head without consciously instructing himself to, but was reaching a hand out to touch the crown of the boy’s head before he even came to any results.   _A son!_  

Bryallyn shifted her position, cradling Bryce so she could hand the child over to her husband.  She couldn’t miss the brief look of panic that flitted across Nathaniel’s face, but to his credit he didn’t back away.  That actually left her smiling, nervousness abating just a little as he faced this battle just as he would any other.  “Like this,” she instructed while laying the baby in his arms.

Nathaniel glanced down at the tiny creature who shifted once and only for a moment before settling himself to sleep once again, clearly content with the world surrounding him just then.  In that moment, an emotion like no other he had ever felt before washed over him, through him, surrounding and enveloping him, and time stood still around him.  

It was a long, drawn out moment later, but Nathaniel finally tore his focus from the child in his arms back to his wife.  He wasn’t certain what he saw in her eyes given the dim lighting of the room, but there was a brilliance making them shine.  Reaching out with his free arm, he pulled her close to his side, holding her as tightly as he could.  Leaning towards her, he whispered near her ear, “I don’t know how you managed all alone, pregnant, my father trying to kill you, but the Maker was truly watching out for me and mine.”

Bryallyn smiled, her head lowering to rest on his shoulder even as she slid her arms around him in the process.  They still had things to discuss, stories to share, issues to resolve, but she was content for the moment that her small corner of the world was finally beginning to right itself.  


	92. Command Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to my fabulous beta, Erynnar!

 

If there was one thing Alistair wondered if he would ever get used to, it was the constant _need_ everyone in the kingdom seemed to have for him simply because of his name and bloodline.  He wasn’t even king yet, and already a steady stream of messages was continuously making their way to his attention via Arl Eamon.  They weren’t even certain he had enough support to make his claim and take the throne, and still they came in hopes he could offer them … _some_ thing.  Those somethings tended to vary from the serious to the most bizarre and ridiculous, to his way of thinking, but as Arl Eamon reminded him at least a dozen times a day, it wasn’t his place to decide their validity, but rather if it was worth responding to.

And now, it seemed, even the current queen found herself in need.  Anora’s handmaiden -- _Ermina?  No.  Edwina?  No, that isn’t quite right either.  Erlina, that’s it!_ \-- stood before him now and that was her claim, at least.  From what Alistair understood of the matter, the very same woman he was attempting to force off the throne of Ferelden so he could take her place had gone and gotten herself captured.  Or something to that effect.  The whys and wherefores and hows were a bit undefined, but the gist of it was that Anora was being held and needed rescuing.

After some time in the meeting and even with the others present, Alistair could honestly say that he was more confused than ever and it was enough to give him a headache the size of Thedas.  Well, that and the fact he wouldn’t be going on this particular mission.  Maker help them if it ended up being a trap of some sort to get the would be king out of the picture!

With little to do save give his semi-royal approval of whatever plan they came up with -- which he did quickly and then disengaged from the conversation entirely since he would have little to do in the ensuing conversation and planning, thank the Maker, Bryallyn was _still_ in charge of the group for the duration of the Blight and Alistair wasn’t afraid to be grateful for that! -- he instead decided to go in search of some place quieter, hoping that it would help the ache in his head fade away.

Arl Eamon’s estate was only vaguely familiar to Alistair.  The family had held this particular location dating back before the Orlesian occupation, and when Alistair was young and before the Arlessa’s arrival resulted in his leaving, he’d accompanied the Arl to Denerim a few times.  Still, there were some differences, including some additions to the living quarters, and it did not take long before he found himself turned around completely.  The benefits to being alone included that no one had to witness his distraction -- and he could file it under _distraction_ because he’d been worrying about the future as he walked and therefore paid very little attention to where he was headed -- but the downside to it was that he was on his own in retracing his steps to find his way back.  After several minutes of consideration and a peek into a couple of nearby rooms, Alistair figured out where he made the wrong turn and backtracked to a more clear point of reference: the guest quarters where he, Bryallyn and now Fergus all had rooms.  

Located in the same wing was also a nursery, undoubtedly used by Connor when he was a child, and now home to Bryallyn’s son.  At the moment, all the doors to the chambers that lined the hall were closed save the one to the nursery which was partly ajar.  Alistair knew that Arl Eamon assigned one of the servants as the babe’s nanny for the duration of their stay in the capital, and he wondered if she would mind him stopping by for a quick visit.  The few times Alistair and Bryce interacted back in Rainesfere, the child seemed comfortable enough around him, and just now Alistair was hoping he might still be accommodating.  After all, interaction with someone who couldn’t talk back would be a darned sight more comfortable than a crowded room filled with those debating whether or not to give assistance to the soon-to-be-they-hoped former queen.

But when Alistair approached the doorway, his ears caught a soft sound from the other side.  It took a moment to identify it, or at least what it was, but it eventually came to him: a lullaby.  The voice singing it was not familiar, and a quick peek around the door proved the reason why.  The nanny Arl Eamon assigned was nowhere in sight.  Instead, he found Delilah Howe, Bryallyn’s sister by marriage, cradling the baby close while singing softly to him.

 _Her voice is lovely_ , Alistair observed immediately while standing in the door.  Surprisingly, at least to him, he also felt an accompanying wave of relaxation ease through his shoulders as well.  The child, too, appeared to be enjoying the entertainment, as Alistair saw a chubby little arm reach up towards Delilah’s hair, grasping and grabbing little fingers and tugging none too gently.  Delilah chuckled, her own hand rising quickly to gently pry tiny fingers free.  Afterwards, she pulled his fist, now closed around her index finger, to her lips and kissed it, all while still singing or at the very least humming the tune.

Alistair was quite content to watch the continued proceedings between the two, but the child must have caught sight of him or something.  Letting out a squawk of delight, he lurched suddenly and awkwardly in Delilah’s arms in the direction of the door.  

“Maker’s Breath, Bryce!” Delilah exclaimed softly, her arms tightening her hold upon him while turning.  She quickly found the cause of her nephew’s distraction, and at the same time lost her ability to speak.  “Oh!  Y-y-y-our … m--!”

Straightening, Alistair lifted his hand to cut her off as he stepped further into the room.  When her steps faltered, he lunged forward, hand moving automatically towards Bryce’s back to keep him from shifting from her hold, his other moving to her waist to help her keep balance.  “Please, don’t,” he begged quietly but with a lopsided smile as he helped her regain her footing.  “I’m not king yet, and honestly, I would just as soon not think about that right now if it’s all the same to you.”

Delilah nodded, unable to stop the quick blush that stained her cheeks at her reaction to his sudden arrival.  “Forgive me,” she murmured, not quite meeting his eyes.  “I thought I was alone … well, save for Bryce’s company.”  The baby, hearing his name, cooed softly and flailed a hand in the air.

Chuckling, Alistair grinned at the child.  “I should be the one apologizing,” he corrected her.  “It wasn't my intention to startle you.”

Taking a deep breath, Delilah managed a smile, her eyes finally rising to meet his.  She blinked for a moment, slightly startled by what she saw there.  She hadn’t had a chance to meet all of Bryallyn’s companions yet, and she wasn’t sure quite what she expected of Bry’s fellow Grey Warden who was claiming the throne of Ferelden, but it certainly wasn’t the slightly awkward yet gentle look she found there now.  “I -- you didn’t,” she finally told him.  Her eyes dropped briefly -- that was a lie and they both knew it -- before rising up to look at him again.  “What I mean is, you did, but it was my own fault,” she tried again.

His brow tilted upwards, arching in an amused yet questioning sort of way to match the lopsided smile at his lips.  “Oh?”

Her cheeks felt warmer, but Delilah couldn’t hold back a grin.  He was so open and honest, in both manner and expression.  “Yes.”

“Hmm.”  

Bryce cooed again, a sound that evolved into a small burble of laughter even as he reached out towards Alistair this time, and Delilah’s smile softened.  “I think he wants you,” she observed.

It was Alistair’s turn to blush this time, but he reached for Bryce readily enough.  Though he hadn’t held the baby often, Bryallyn taught him early on the proper way to do so and how to relax while doing it.  “So,” he started conversationally while settling Bryce against his shoulder, “you know Bryallyn?”

Delilah nodded.  “Nathaniel is my brother,” she explained.  “Bry and I were friends when we were younger and our families used to visit.”  She sighed softly, memories of better times taking hold.  “Times certainly have changed.”

Alistair nodded, but his attention was momentarily taken by the chubby little fist that managed to somehow catch hold of the short hairs at the back of his head.  “Ouch!”  He managed to modulate his tone so not to frighten the baby, but he winced in obvious pain.  It was distraction enough that he didn’t notice Delilah chuckling and reaching up to gently pry Bryce’s fingers away.  She took the baby back and Alistair gladly let her, his hand rising to rub at the residual ache left behind.  “Thanks,” he told her.

Delilah smiled up at him.  “I think it fair to say that my nephew has his parents’ steady grip,” she teased.  “If he does not have a bow in hand by the time he is walking, I will have to reprimand my brother!”

Alistair watched her walk back to lay Bryce in the cradle which likely dated back to Connor’s infancy.  Still rubbing at the back of his neck, he wandered over to join them, staring down at Bryce as he cooed softly and played with Delilah’s fingers as she lightly tickled at his tummy.  “Huh,” he mused quietly, a soft pull of a smile curving at his lips.  “You are pretty good with him.”

Delilah chortled this time and dared a quick look up at him.  “You obviously don’t know both my knotheaded brothers,” she replied dryly, but with a hint of sisterly affection.  Well, at least for Nathaniel.  Thomas and his alliance with their father left him lacking for the moment.  

Alistair searched her eyes for a moment and noted the twinkle of mischief there.  “You say that,” he teased back, the lopsided grin for which Bryallyn and Leliana often teased him curving back into its usual place, “but I wonder if he might not say the same about you?”  As soon as the words slipped past his lips, he groaned softly, a slight frown furrowing his brow.  “Sorry,” he hastened to assure her, “that sounded better in my head ….”

But Delilah laughed, and, Alistair saw, the twinkle sparkled even brighter.  “Perhaps you _do_ know my brother after all,” she countered.  

It was on the tip of Alistair’s tongue to ask what she meant by that, but the door behind them moved unexpectedly, catching his attention.  It broke the moment, and he half turned towards the interruption expecting to find the nanny Eamon assigned returning to check on her charge.  Instinct, however, kicked into high gear before he’d even managed to fully turn, and later he would be grateful for the lessons in paying more attention to the details he’d been learning over the months from the likes of Leliana and Zevran.

Before he could fully grasp the nature and implications of the interruption, a ripple of movement in the shadows to his left had Alistair throwing up his shield arm out of instinct in anticipation of a blow and lunging towards it while at the same time, his other hand reached for the dagger at his hip.  The blade was one Leliana gave him in the Deep Roads with the admonition to always keep it on his person no matter what.  Carrying it was an instinctive decision, one in which his sole aim at the time was to please her that the gift would go to good use.  Since then, he’d given it little thought, though habit had him wearing it even when out of armor.  Like now.

The dagger itself triggered an odd sensation in his hand.  The weight of it was not nearly the same as his normal blade -- Duncan’s sword that Bryallyn retrieved when they returned to Ostagar on the way to Rainesfere -- but even so, it was a weapon and in this instance he would easily agree that having something to use was better than having nothing at all.

The intruder appeared content to use the darkness of the room to his advantage.  While not a rogue himself, Alistair did have sparring experience against the rogues in his traveling group.  He’d lost count just how many times over recent months they had caught him unawares.  And yet, he _had_ learned a number of things from the experience which, he supposed, was why they insisted on sparring against him.  Included in this was how to use his instincts to better judge and prepare for an attack coming out of the shadows.  As a warrior in full armor, he had little enough to fear from such an ambush as long as he was aware that it might happen.  Tonight, dressed in civilian clothing and armed only with a dagger and his wits, he understood he might not be so lucky.  Still, he had to try, if only to protect Delilah and Bryce.   _Won’t Eamon be annoyed if this is how I meet my end?_ he mused silently.

“Stay behind me!” Alistair shouted over his shoulder at Delilah.  

With Alistair’s first movements, Delilah thought he’d tripped, the sudden shift of movement beside her as unexpected as it was startling.  Habit had her glancing back over her shoulder to make sure he wasn’t injured.  The sound of the door opening behind her wasn’t completely unexpected, after all.  The nurse watching out for Bryce had assured Delilah she would return after a short while.  So when her eyes caught upon Alistair lunging forward in a battle stance without proper arms or armor and she heard his shout of warning, it took a moment for her to react.  

The shadows appeared to come alive as she watched.  Movement was murky in the dimness, but there were subtle telltale signs that even her untrained could recognize.  She watched in horrified silence as Alistair shouted a loud battle cry and connected with the body of his opponent, roughly shoving it backwards, pounding the undetermined opponent’s body against the wall with a heavy thud.  That broke the haze of confusion for her, and Delilah turned back towards the cradle, scooping a now clearly frightened and wailing Bryce up into her arms before turning to scan the rest of the room.  The door was still open, propped against the wall, and somewhere in the distance, she could hear hurried footsteps.

 _But whose?_ she wondered.  

She continued searching the room for someplace -- _any_ place -- where she could tuck herself into relative safety for herself and Bryce, but little was available.  The steps pounded closer and all she could think was that more trouble was on its way.  Biting her lip, she tucked Bryce to her shoulder and slipped into the shadows along the wall behind her and Alistair.  In the long run, she knew it would do little good with Bryce so fretful and loud, but it might buy her a fraction of a moment or two in which she could slip past any attackers and out the doorway to flee for safety.

After the initial collision against the wall, Alistair lowered his left arm, reaching to grasp the figure by what felt like leather armor.  His right hand rose, blade glinting with the light from the hall catching the sharpness of its edge, but when it connected, even he could tell the sound of metal against stone.  The form before him dropped, crouching or attempting to roll away -- Alistair wasn’t certain which -- and his left hand followed suit even as he dropped to his knee.  “Oh no,” he breathed, rising anger surging with the adrenaline through his system.  “You are _not_ getting away that easily!”

“Warden, move aside, if you please.”

For the first time since he’d met the elf assassin, Alistair was glad to hear his voice sneaking up behind him.  He did as requested, backing away and to his right to keep out of the Crow’s way.  Zevran moved with a speed and grace Alistair had witnessed numerous times before upon the battlefield, but in this situation they reminded him of a deadly dance.  It was over almost before it began.  Even used to seeing Zevran fight, Alistair missed the man drawing his blades and barely caught the flash of light as they connected.  Their opponent went down immediately and yet silently.  His eyes flicked over to Zevran, brow rising in question.  The rogue was on a knee beside the body but turned to look up at Alistair as if sensing the question.  “I was cleaning my blades as is my evening custom,” he murmured, pushing himself to his feet.  

It took a moment for the full implication to register, but once it did, Alistair nodded.  He’d witnessed the elf on many an evening in camp go through his end of day procedure during which he cleaned and sharpened his blades if necessary and then reapplied one of the many poisons for which the Crows were famous.  “You have my thanks,” Alistair told him.  

The pounding of footfalls at the doorway had both men turning on their heels, falling into battle ready stances, but a familiar voice put them at ease instantly.  “What happened?” Bryallyn asked, stepping into the room.  Nathaniel was not far behind her, nor was Fergus.  

“It would appear that an attempt was made,” Zevran observed in a calm, neutral tone.  “What exactly the nature of the intent was, I do not know.  However, given that your son was assigned to this room, I would hazard a guess that he was the target rather than our royal friend here.”

 _Bryce_.  Alistair ignored the not so subtle jibe, his eyes lifting and searching for Delilah.  He was just reaching the area on the far side of the room when he spotted her stepping out of the shadows.  Their eyes met briefly.  In hers he spotted wariness and concern, but thankfully no fear.  

“Bryce!”

Delilah was quick to hand her nephew over to his mother and father, though Nathaniel reached out to briefly pull her close.  Delilah allowed herself to sag against him in relief for a moment.  When he pulled away to turn towards his wife and child, she took a couple of steps backwards to give them some space.

“Well done.”

The quiet murmur near her would have startled her had she not almost been expecting it.   _Alistair_.  Looking up at him, Delilah managed a lopsided smile.  “And you,” she told him quietly.  “I thought it was Bryce’s nurse returning from the break she took.”

Alistair sighed, hand rising to rub at his neck like he had earlier.  “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” he replied.  “Only, I saw the person move into the shadows like something Zevran and Leliana do in battle and ….”

Delilah nodded.  “My brother moves the same way,” she admitted somberly after a moment.  She sighed too, her head dropping and shaking back and forth a couple of times.  “It’s a beautiful thing to witness -- all grace and speed and breathtaking in its own way -- but to see it used against you like that?”  She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself.  

The others in the room were still talking, though from their words and actions, they appeared to be relocating to another room.  Alistair watched as they started to filter out, Bryce now calm and snuggled against his mother’s shoulder.  Briefly, he saw Bryallyn’s eyes flick back to meet his.  It wasn’t so much the half smile she gave him that expressed her thanks, he realized, but the look in her eyes.  He smiled back, one of his easy, lopsided grins that he always had readily available.  She nodded -- well, inclined her chin mostly, but it was enough -- and then disappeared around the corner with Nathaniel to one side and Fergus to the other.

The tension and adrenaline now bleeding away, he turned his attention back to his recent comrade in arms while lifting his hand to rub at his stomach.  She looked a little withdrawn and maybe even a bit shaky, and he was reminded of his own reaction after his first encounter fighting darkspawn and how his fellow Wardens had helped him cope afterwards.  “I don’t know about you,” he told Delilah, “but I’m a bit peckish after all that.  Care to join me for a late night snack?”

The question was drawn out of thin air, to Delilah’s way of thinking, and she opened her mouth to decline thinking to go to her room for the rest of the night to sort out all that had just happened, but her belly rumbled softly to catch her attention.  Her eyes darting to his, she saw that he’d heard too, and she blushed as he smiled.  

“Come on, you know you want to,” he encouraged.

“Well ….”  Delilah finally nodded after another grumble followed the first.  Sighing, she nodded.  “Alright, if you insist.”  She managed a smile back in his direction and the way his eyes lit up in response had her stomach fluttering in an altogether different manner.  “I suppose at the very least I can manage a cup of tea.”

Alistair held the door for her, following her out of the room, and as they walked towards the dining hall, invited, “So, you did pretty well back there, all things considered.  I’m assuming that comes from growing up with Nathaniel?”

Delilah snorted softly.  “And Thomas,” she replied.

His smile widened.  “You must have some pretty good stories tell.”

Delilah chuckled softly, nodding.  “You could say that,” she agreed, recognizing the invitation and, she thought, the intent behind it.  After a moment’s consideration, she gave in gracefully and replied, “Nathaniel used to torment me so!  And Miss Maggie!”

Alistair’s brow arched.  “Who is Miss Maggie?”

That question opened the floodgates, so to speak, and Delilah laughed.  It was an unusual method of dealing with the after effects of battle, but she couldn’t argue that it didn’t work.  Linking her arm through his, they left the room together as she launched into the tale with gusto and the last of the adrenaline slowly faded away.

 


	93. Looks Can Be Deceiving

“You can’t!  How can you -- you must be out of your mind if you think --!”

Strong, familiar hands settled at Bryallyn’s shoulders even as she turned her back to her husband and stared into the blazing fire in their room.  He closed the space between them, thumbs rubbing in gentle, soothing circles, until the warmth of his body penetrated through the back of her dress.  Shaking her head, she rasped roughly, “Nathaniel --”

“It will be alright, Bry,” he murmured leaning close to her ear.  His hands dropped, arms sliding around her waist from behind and settling loosely there.

“But it won’t!” she protested.  A surge of anger mixed with a healthy dose of fear surged through her as she turned in his embrace and stared up at him.  “You, of all people, should know he can’t be trusted!  Please, don’t make the same mistake my parents made!”

Nathaniel tightened his arms around his wife, urging her to lean back against him which she did after a long, silent moment of stubborn refusal.  He chuckled softly; a sound that cut off when she turned and her arms closed around him in return.  “I promise you,” he said quietly, “I’m not underestimating him, nor do I trust him.  Not anymore.”

Bryallyn tilted her head to look up at him.  “Then why?” she asked in a plaintive tone.  “He will surely kill you if --”

Nathaniel shook his head back and forth.  “No, I don’t think he will.  Not immediately.”

Her scowl deepened.  “He sent someone after our son, Nathaniel!”

“My father will want to brag,” Nathaniel insisted.  “Bry, you know him!  He will want to gloat about having caught me just so he can rub what almost happened into my face.  To see how it makes me react.  And _that_ will be his mistake.”

Bryallyn pushed away from him, stepping back from his embrace.  “How so?” she asked.  Nathaniel’s lips curled upwards at the corners, but the smile was more predatory than encouraging.  It was a deceptively calculated look and decidedly evil in its own way.  Bryallyn shivered involuntarily and wondered if her husband knew that his father did the same.

“While distracted with me, you and the others will have an easier time getting into the estate.  Erlina’s plan is good,” he added, “but not good enough against the likes of my father.  I need to do this, Bry.  I honestly believe we will not be successful in rescuing Anora unless he is distracted.”

Biting her lower lip, Bryallyn stared down at the floor between them for a long minute.  “I hate it when you are right,” she grumbled.

Nathaniel chuckled.  He recognized agreement when he heard it, reluctant or not.  “Then it is a good thing it happens so rarely,” he teased, winking at her once she looked back up at him.  Then, more soberly, “I will take every precaution I can so that by the time you reach me I can still fight.”

“You think he won’t be prepared for that?” she countered.

“I _hope_ he won’t,” he corrected.  “Bryallyn, believe me when I tell you I want my father to pay for all he’s done.  If that means with his life, then so be it.  But if we can do it in a way where others can bear witness.  He has hurt many people over the years, my love.  They deserve the satisfaction of seeing him brought to justice as much as we do.”

Bryallyn snorted, anger still flowing strongly beneath the surface.  “And he will hurt you,” she pointed out.  “He may gloat, but that man has an evil streak that rivals the archdemon ….”  Her voice trailed off before she managed in a hoarse whisper, “You did not see what he did to my father, Nathaniel.  Or to Oren and Oriana.”  Maker help her, she still had not told her brother of any of those details.

Nathaniel sighed.  Pulling her close again, he replied, “I know, but we have to take that chance.”

Bryallyn glanced up at him again, finally.  “I don’t want to lose you,” she told him.  “Not now that I’ve found you again.”

“You won’t.”

 

~ n ~

 

After sharing the evening meal at Arl Eamon’s table, Fergus spent the greater part of the evening in the Arl’s small training yard practicing old techniques and determining just how much mobility he had regained over the months.  Bryallyn had asked him to join her and her two rogue companions the next day as they went to rescue Anora from the Arl of Denerim’s estate.  Fergus agreed immediately, of course.  Something had to be done.  The imprisonment of the current queen aside, the man was responsible for the deaths of those Fergus cared most about.  He needed to see that justice prevailed.  Then he could focus on creating a new life and fully moving forward.

On the way back to his room, he found the door to his sister’s room ajar.  Glancing inside -- everyone was on high alert since the attempt on little Bryce earlier -- he found her seated in a chair near the hearth, staring absently into the blaze.  What surprised him most, however, was the fact she was alone.  “Everything alright, Pup?” he called out.

Bryallyn started, her eyes darting over to meet his at the use of the old nickname, and the smile she gave him held a certain level of sadness, but it _was_ a smile at least.  “Nathaniel has gone,” she announced.  

Shocked, Fergus couldn’t hide the concern that hit him then.  

Bryallyn quickly clarified, “What I mean is that he has gone ahead of us.”

Fergus frowned.  Moving in front of her, he dropped awkwardly to his knees so they were at eye level with one another.  “What do you mean he has ‘gone ahead?’”

Bryallyn sighed softly.  “He went ahead -- to Rendon’s estate,” she explained.  “He intends to let himself be caught and by doing so, provide a distraction to give our party an easier chance of entering undetected tomorrow.”  Her eyes dropped to her lap where her fingers fidgeted against one another.

Stunned, Fergus leaned back on his heels.  “I would ask if this was some sort of fantastic joke, but I can see by your expression that it isn’t.”

Her hands moved again, almost spasmodically, and Fergus reached out to cover them with one of his.   _So much strength_ , he realized, though why it surprised him he couldn’t say.  Still, it left him wondering just how else his younger sister might have changed over the past year.  Alone.  Believing she’d lost her entire family.  Pregnant.  And a Grey Warden, leading the way to defeat the Blight.  Squeezing her hands, he assured her, “Nathaniel will be just fine, Bry.  In this past year, I have seen him get out of more scrapes than I can count on my two hands.”

“But, this is his _father_ , Fergus!  You did not see what he did at --!”  Bryallyn caught herself, stopping before specific words to the reminder of that night could be voiced, of what they’d both lost, but Fergus instinctively flinched, eyes twitching at the corners.  

“No,” he choked roughly after a very long moment, “I did not see.  However, if _any_ one has a chance to succeed against that bastard, I would think Nathaniel would.  He knows Rendon well enough not to trust him, I should think.”

“This is not a matter of trust!”  Bryallyn’s protest was adamant.  “Rendon has tried to kill him twice already -- once on our wedding trip and another time on the ship to the Free Marches.  On both those occasions, he showed no inclination towards talking first!”

“But this time, Nate will be able to instigate the discussion.  While I am not entirely in agreement with his decision to offer himself up as he has, I can understand his logic.  We both have seen instances over the years where Rendon took too much delight in gloating over his better fortune over others.  I have a suspicion that your husband intends to play that card against him,” Fergus argued.

“And if he is wrong and gets himself killed?”

Fergus chuckled and patted her hands reassuringly.  “Nathaniel Howe has the lives of a cat,” he countered with a smile.  “He is as wily, if not more so, than Rendon.  I have no doubt your husband will be as successful as he can be with his plan.”  Fergus was a bit startled at the sincerity he heard in his own tone, but the fact of the matter was, after all the time spent together during their travels, he did believe it.  Believed in Nathaniel.  Rendon’s arrogance would be a downfall of his own making.

“Fergus … I’m scared.”

How long had it been since he’d heard his little sister speak in such a tone?  Small?  Frightened?  “Believe in him, Pup,” he counseled gently.  “He has much to live for now that he has found you and your son.”  And if anyone understood just how much strength that could give a person, he could.


	94. Tangled Webs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued thanks to my beta, Erynnar!

 

“Are you certain this is the best way to get to the estate?”

Bryallyn side glanced Fergus and chuckled softly.  “Second thoughts, brother?” she asked lightly knowing full well he wasn’t going to turn back at this point.  

“More concern about who or what we might run into in these back alleys along the way,” Fergus tossed back.  “They aren’t exactly the safest places in the city for us.”

Zevran’s grin was sly as he jumped in to reply for the Warden.  “Worry not, my noble friend.  Your sister cleared out the worst of the riff raff months ago.  Your safety here is guaranteed.”  After a pause for dramatic effect, he added, “Perhaps you would prefer a more personal bodyguard to ensure your security?”

Bryallyn sighed softly, eyes rolling at the innuendo dripping with the elf’s words.  “I told you,” she murmured to her brother, “he takes some getting used to.”

Fergus shook his head, part in exasperation, part in embarrassment for having let himself fall into the trap in the first place.  It was true, Bryallyn had warned him.  And, while trained by his parents to be a noble, after speaking with the Crow assassin several times since their meeting, he could readily admit he still had a lot to learn with word play.  “That is the understatement of the year,” he muttered.

Bryallyn smiled and swallowed back laughter.  “That said, he is worth his weight in gold in a battle.”

Nonplussed, Zevran nodded.  “This is true,” he agreed.  “In fact, there have been several instance of late in which --”

“So here is the mighty Grey Warden at long last.”

The voice that broke into their discussion was not a familiar one to Bryallyn, and instinct had her immediately reaching for her bow.  Beside her, she heard Leliana withdraw her blades as Fergus did the same, hefting his shield into position.  Zevran, on the other hand, stood completely still in the middle of the path, and his lack of reaction was more than enough for Bryallyn to realize the elf knew the person speaking.  Her gaze settled for a long moment on her friend.  Only when the stranger spoke again did they drift in his direction.

“The Crows send their greetings, once again.”

Zevran remained standing somewhat stiffly beside Bryallyn, but he found his voice at last.  “So they sent you, Taliesen?  Or did you volunteer for the job?”

_Taliesen?_  Bryallyn frowned.  She wouldn’t say the name sounded familiar, necessarily, but she _had_ heard it before.  

“I volunteered, of course,” Taliesen replied.  “When I heard the great Zevran went rogue, I simply had to see it for myself.”

“Is that so?  Well here I am, in the flesh.”

Though the elf was exceptionally good at hiding it, Bryallyn could sense his distress.  Using her right hand to wave her brother and Leliana back for the moment, she sought answers first.  “Do you know him, Zevran?”

“Indeed I do, Warden,” the elf replied.  His voice sounded odd, slightly distant, and his eyes were still locked onto Taliesen who stood up ahead of them on the steps leading to the next alleyway.  “As you may have guessed, he, like myself, is a member of the Antivan Crows.”

Bryallyn eyed Taliesen a little more closely after that announcement.  “Is he here to take you back to Antiva then?” she asked.

“More likely, his mission is to kill me,” Zevran replied.  Standing to his full height, he called out, “Is that not what Grandmaster Eoman would have of you, my old friend?”

_Grandmaster!_  The name suddenly fell into place, pulling memories of her conversations with Zevran about his past to the forefront.

“The decision is entirely yours,” Taliesen announced, descending the stone staircase one step at a time.  “I know why you did this, and I don’t blame you.  Come back with me, Zevran, and we will make up a story.  Anyone can make a mistake.”

Zevran snorted indelicately.  “And meet the end of his blade there?  No, I think I much prefer the Grandmaster coming after me himself.”

Taliesen reached the pathway and moved out so that he was clearly visible, his hands at his sides but within easy reach of his weapons.  “Zevran, you know he will take you back.  He is a reasonable man.”

Bryallyn glanced between the two men before coming back to rest upon Taliesen.  Clearly Zevran did not trust him; neither would she.  “What is the catch?” she asked.

“The catch?”  Taliesen grunted, nodding once at her before he began laughing softly.  “I have heard much about you Warden.  I see you don’t disappoint.”  Bryallyn said nothing in reply, and neither did Zevran this time.  Sighing dramatically, Taliesen lifted his hands -- still weapon free -- and gestured as he spoke.  “The ‘catch,’ as you put it, is that Zevran will have to finish his original mission.  I am here to ensure that he does.  Once that is complete, Zevran will be welcomed back with open arms.”

“And this ‘original mission’?” Fergus asked, speaking up for the first time since encountering the Crow.

Bryallyn brought her eyes back to meet Zevran’s.  “To assassinate me, brother,” she informed him in a mild tone.  “Somebody paid a great deal to see that I was removed as a threat to Loghain’s regency.”

Zevran nodded once; a slow, graceful move, but always he kept his eyes locked to hers.  They had come to an understanding during their journey together.  This was simply another test.  Behind Bryallyn, Fergus grunted in surprise, and off to their side, Leliana shifted, hands still wrapped firmly around the hilts of her pair of daggers, to murmur quietly to him.  Bryallyn’s brow lifted, silently asking the question she would not put voice to.   _Which side will you take?_

For a long moment, the elf returned the look.  Taliesen, for his part, appeared to watch the pair with curiosity.  “You know we can do this, Zevran,” he called.  “And the Grandmaster will believe every word of it.”

“Yes, my friend, he most likely will,” Zevran replied when finally he pulled his gaze from Bryallyn and turned back to face Taliesen.  “Unfortunately, it simply will not happen.”

Bryallyn, a small curling of the right side of her lips upwards, turned to eye Taliesen herself.  She had her answer.  Now all that was left was his response.  Her hand tightened on the bow and she stood tense, ready to grasp an arrow at the slightest provocation.

“What?!  You’ve gone soft in the head!” Taliesen protested.  “The Crows will make you pay, you old fool!”

The look on Zevran’s face truly looked remorseful as he replied, “I’m sorry, my old friend, but the answer is no.  I am not coming back … and you should have stayed in Antiva.”

The first movements, though expected, still managed to surprise Bryallyn.  She heard a shout -- Fergus -- identifying a couple of attackers moving up from behind them.  Leliana jumped into the fray as quickly as it began, her voice rising in song and indicating that she, too, had been expecting an attack. Zevran slipped ahead of Bryallyn, positioning himself between Taliesen and the Warden while she reached for an arrow from her quiver.  Her eyes flitted from one opponent to the next until she counted them all -- Seven this time.  A sign of respect? Or an underestimation on Taliesen’s part?  At the same time, she searched the immediate area for potential allies in this fight.  Though the alleyways were often filled with stray cats and dogs, they were not always cooperative even when she employed her ranger abilities.

Without forethought or planning, Zevran, Leliana, and Fergus fell into positions circling around Bryallyn as she took her carefully placed shots at their foes.  She aimed first for ranged fighters -- a mage and two archers -- taking them down before switching to her blades for closer combat.  By the time that happened, however, most of the rest had fallen.  Only Taliesen remained, but he appeared focused solely upon Zevran as, Bryallyn noticed, the elf was on him.  The pair of rogues made the ducking and dodging of each other’s attacks look as graceful as any ballroom dance, but in the end, Taliesen fell, as his companions had.  

Zevran straightened, sheathing his blades and casting a sorrowful look to the man lying at his feet.  “And there it is,” he murmured.  “Taliesen is dead, and I am free from the Crows.  They will assume that I am dead along with Taliesen.  So long as I do not make my presence known to them, they will not seek me out.”

Bryallyn blinked, casting a startled look over at him.  Would it really be as simple as all that?  “That’s a good thing, right?”

The elf nodded.  “A very good thing,” he assured her.  “It is, in fact, what I had hoped for every since you decided not to kill me.  I suppose it will be possible for me to leave, now, if I wished.  I could go far away, somewhere where the Crows would never find me.  I think, however, that I could also stay here.  I made an oath to help you, after all.  And saving the world seems a worthy task to see through to the end, yes?”

A quick smile curved at her lips, but with all sincerity she told him, “If you want to, you should go.”  Maker knew he’d done enough to assist them.

Zevran paused, tilting his head towards her, a curious look on his face.  “But that is what I am asking you.  Do you want me to go?  Do you need me here?”

Bryallyn closed her eyes for a long moment and gave careful consideration to his questions.  He had given her his oath and would, if she asked it of him, remain until it was fulfilled.  Still ….  “I want you to do what’s best for you, Zevran.”

Her eyes opened again when he didn’t reply right away and she saw a look of confusion spread across his face.  “I … am not sure how to respond to that,” he told her.  “Nobody has ever … I mean, normally these things are decided by others.”  He stopped speaking for a moment and frowned.  Finally, “Err … then I suppose I shall … stay?  Is that … good?”

Bryallyn nodded immediately, unashamed to show her relief.  “I think so,” she replied.

“We should get going,” Leliana murmured as she walked over to them, Fergus behind her.  Her eyes dropped to Taliesen’s body.  “We have moved the others out of view.”

Zevran’s eyes dropped to Taliesen’s still form at his feet.  “I will take care of him,” he promised.  

Fergus stepped up beside his sister.  “Everything alright?”

She nodded.  “I think so,” she replied.  She kept her eyes on Zevran as he deftly lifted Taliesen’s inert frame and moved it to one of the nearby darker corners.  “Perhaps even better than before.”

“One of these days, you need to tell me the full story.”

Bryallyn chuckled and glanced up at her brother.  “Trust me when I tell you, Fergus, most of it you simply will not believe.”

 


	95. Open Door Policy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to my fabulous beta, Erynnar!

 

 

Working their way through the estate was more smoothly achieved than expected, and it left Bryallyn curious as to why.  Could Rendon Howe truly be as distracted by his son’s presence as Nathaniel had thought he would be?  Or was something else entirely going on around them?  It certainly didn’t help matters that something about Erlina was poking in the back of Bryallyn’s mind either, but for the life of her she couldn’t quite figure out why, and even a quick consultation with Leliana provided no answers.

Still, Anora’s handmaiden had her uses.  A plan that began with sneaking tactics -- three rogues and a warrior were a great idea on paper until the necessity for silence and stealth took over -- ended up well enough once Erlina suggested the infiltrators don disguises that would help them blend in with the rest of Howe’s guard ranks.  Then again, to Bryallyn’s way of thinking it worked almost too well.  Aside from the pair of guards on duty at the back doors who Erlina distracted, none of the other soldiers even gave the small group a side glance, let alone challenged them as they made their way through the estate.

“How convenient,” Bryallyn muttered to the others after Erlina rejoined them and led them off to the chamber where the Queen was being held.

“A little too convenient, if you ask me,” Leliana interjected while tossing her friend a knowing look.  Bryallyn nodded her understanding.

“My thoughts exactly,” Zevran chimed in.

Fergus glanced between the three rogues.  “Clearly, you three saw something I did not,” he said.  “What exactly is it you are suggesting?”

Bryallyn shook her head, refusing to specify, but Leliana did not hesitate to step in.  “There are too many coincidences in play.  If the queen is a prisoner, why is her handmaiden allowed to come and go as she pleases?  Why would they allow her to have access to disguises -- and armor, at that! -- for us to use?”

“One must also consider,” Zevran picked up for her a moment later, “why it is that, while there are plenty of soldiers about, very few of them are actually on duty.”  He nodded ahead of them as they caught up to Erlina standing outside the room holding the queen.  “And, may I add, why are there no guards on watch outside a room where such an important prisoner as the queen is being held?”

Fergus blinked as they arrived, Leliana’s and Zevran’s words echoing inside his head even as his sister began speaking with Anora through the closed door.  He had to admit, the coincidences mentioned by Leliana and Zevran were difficult to dismiss.  “Perhaps they don’t need guards with the magical seal in place?” he offered by way of explanation.  As he recalled, Howe was never afraid to use magic if it gave him an advantage.

Zevran shrugged, murmuring, “Perhaps.”  His tone clearly indicated he did not believe it sufficient excuse for the lack of guards.

“Come on,” Bryallyn told them a few minutes later.  “We have a mage to find.”

There was little resistance along the way as they continued through the keep, still somewhat surprising considering just how deep inside the belly of the beast they were at this point.  Eventually, they found the room belonging to the Arl himself.  Here, Bryallyn paused, giving a hand signal for Leliana and Zevran both to search the room in depth.  “Their eyes and abilities are much better suited to this sort of thing than mine,” she explained to her brother as she followed him over to a nearby desk.  Fergus began shifting papers around, his eyes scanning the contents of each as he did so.  “Anything interesting?” Bryallyn asked, looking around his shoulder.

Fergus opened his mouth to reply in the negative, but before he could speak, his eyes fell upon two familiar words.  “Grey Warden?”

“What was that?”  Bryallyn’s eyes dropped to the page he tapped.  Fergus brushed two other pages aside and off the top of it so she could read it more fully.  “He has a Grey Warden captive?”  Her eyes to meet her brother’s.  “But … who?  All the Fereldan Wardens were killed at Ostagar, and the rumors we’ve heard for months now suggest that Loghain has shut the borders -- both land and sea -- from outsiders.”

Fergus shrugged.  “Perhaps another from Ostagar survived?”

Bryallyn frowned.  “Surely we would have heard something to that effect.  It would be next to impossible to transport an injured person, let alone a Warden, from Ostagar to Denerim and keep his presence completely hidden.”

“Not so difficult as you might think,” Fergus replied.

“Warden.”

Bryallyn’s attention was caught by the note of tension in Zevran’s voice and her head turned.  Looking across the room, she found the elf and Leliana standing side by side, speaking to one another in hushed voices even as they stared at something the elf held in his hand.  Crossing to their sides, Bryallyn opened her mouth to ask what he’d found, but Zevran simply shook his head, effectively cutting her off.  Reaching out, he took one of her hands and turned it palm up before opening his own and dropping the contents within.  The coolness of the items -- she felt two different hits as they landed against her skin -- alerted her to their metal content, but it wasn’t until she looked at them more closely that she recognized what exactly they were.

Fergus followed behind his sister and watched the scene unfold.  Though he could not openly view what the elf placed into her hand, her sharp gasp and the way her body froze told him that she recognized it.  “Bry?”

Her response was to turn and face him.  He saw tears trickle out of her eyes as she took one of the items and lifted it between thumb and forefinger.  The hollow space shone brightly in the light of the fire nearby, but Fergus managed to catch sight of the words inscribed on the inside of what clearly was a ring.

_Bryce & Eleanor  Forever United_

It was enough to make his stomach churn.  “Mother’s and Father’s marriage rings!” Fergus breathed in shock.

Bryallyn handed him the larger of the two rings as she slipped the smaller one onto the hand opposite the ring Nathaniel gave her on their wedding night.  “Father by marriage or not, the bastard is going to pay!” she hissed.

“Temper, temper, my dear Warden,” Zevran tsked quietly, but it was the only reminder that he gave.

Bryallyn darted a sharp look over at the elf in reply, but she did nod once to indicate his message had been received.  “Let’s go.  The sooner we get through here, the better.”

 

~ n ~

 

It came as no surprise when they finally ran into some resistance as they descended into the lower levels of the keep.  Thankfully, during their first encounter there was only one guard and his protests at their presence did not appear to alert any other guards in the vicinity.  What _did_ startle Bryallyn was the pair of arms that reached through the bars of the cell gate to wrap around the neck and head of the guard.  Before she could say a word, the unfortunate man was sliding to the ground, dead.  A moment after, the door to the cell opened and the body was pulled inside.

“Hello?” Bryallyn called out quietly, taking one step closer.  Zevran and Leliana each moved to the side walls that met at the cell, using the shadows to their advantage and preparing lest the person inside not be on their side.  Fergus moved as far ahead as he dared, intent upon keeping watch for any parties showing more interest than they should.

The sounds inside the cell were hurried, but they were familiar enough to match with what she knew of buckles and clasps of armor being removed.  When this continued for nearly twice as long as expected, it wasn’t difficult to understand what was happening.  Bryallyn took another step closer just as the door opened wider and a man, battered and bruised, exited the cell.  

“Thank you, stranger,” he told her sincerely and with the slightest hint of an Orlesian accent, “for creating such a distraction.  I have been waiting days for such an opportunity.”

Bryallyn nodded her head at him, accepting his thanks, considering that if indeed Loghain’s views on Orlesians was far from complimentary and his more recent actions of closing the borders was any indication, it was no surprise to find one of this man’s obvious connection to the country behind bars.  Finding him in Howe’s dungeon only served to join his nefarious plots with Loghain’s, in Bryallyn’s mind.  “How long have you been held here?” she asked.

The man rolled his shoulders experimentally.  “Two weeks, perhaps, maybe longer.  I came to Denerim in search of someone.  Unfortunately, he was killed at Ostagar.”

Bryallyn nodded.  “Many good people were lost there,” she agreed.

“Yes.  Duncan and I were like brothers.  We’d known one another since we were --”

Bryallyn blinked, her breathing catching for a second.  “Duncan?”

“Bryallyn, be careful,” Leliana cautioned quietly.  

The man appeared almost as startled as Bryallyn.  “Bryallyn … Cousland, perhaps?”

Bryallyn met his gaze and nodded.  “You knew Duncan?  The Grey Warden?”

He nodded.  “Yes.  Duncan and I knew one another long before we became Wardens together.  My name is Riordan.”

“You are a Warden, too?”  Bryallyn’s shoulders sagged in relief.  “Maker’s breath, Alistair and I are not in this alone after all!”

“Alistair?  Warden Alistair?”  Riordan asked.  Bryallyn nodded.  “I was at his Joining.”

His ear catching wind of conversation, Fergus retraced his steps and began, “Bry, we need to get moving --  Riordan?”

The Warden turned, recognition settling over his face.  “I remember you,” he replied.  “The inn by Lake Calenhad.”

Fergus nodded.  A quick look told him more than he needed to know regarding the man’s fortune of late, however, and he turned back to his sister.  “Do you think he can make it to Eamon’s?  We really should be moving on.”

Bryallyn nodded.  Her brother was right, of course.  She gave Riordan a more considering look, but he was in pretty bad shape.  “Do you know where the Arl of Redcliffe’s estate is in town?  Off the edge of the Market District across from the Chantry?”

He nodded carefully.  “I do.”

“Alistair is there,” she informed him.  “Go there and he will no doubt vouch for you should any problems arise.  We can talk more later upon our return.”

Riordan nodded and turned away, leaving the others alone once again.  “The path ahead is clear for the moment,” Zevran announced as he slipped from the shadows back into sight.  “But we should take care and make haste.”

 

~ n ~

 

Room by room they made their way slowly through the dungeons.  They not only came upon more of Howe’s men -- that was expected -- but additional captives as well.  

The disguises they still wore only took them so far, they soon discovered when encountering Howe’s men.  Apparently, most of the soldiers on duty in the dungeons knew most of the rest of their brethren.  

“‘Ere now,” one told them when challenged in the hall; he examined each of their faces quickly, clearly showing no sign of recognition, “you lot aren’t supposed to be ‘ere.”

Bryallyn focused her attention on the man though she caught vague movement behind him and could hear cries of pain in the distance.  To the guard blocking their path, her eyes darkened.  “Who’s in there?”  It was a bluff, of course, and one solely dependent upon his own level of comfort.

It quickly became clear he wasn’t buying into the suggestive trick.  Moving to block their further movement with his own body, he informed them, “Anybody tries to come in here without Howe’s say so, we get to do what we like with ‘em.”  Then without pause, he called back over his shoulder, “I think we got us a bit of entertainment ‘ere, lads!”

Fergus was the first to openly respond, shoving his shield forward and bashing the man full in the face.  Bryallyn darted around her brother to get behind the guard, and as Fergus occupied him with an attack from the front, she pulled _Tempered Faith_ and _Shadow’s Bite_ free of their sheaths and attacked from behind.  Even before the guard began slumping to the floor, Bryallyn heard clear sounds of a battle fully enjoined.  Leliana and Zevran were quick to jump into the fray.  A quick glance and she saw Fergus moving in to assist.  Pulling her blade free of the dead soldier’s back, Bryallyn turned to join them.

Howe’s men were skilled, Bryallyn could give them that, but she and her people were better.  This battle took little time -- or perhaps it was longer, at times it was difficult to tell with adrenaline coursing through the veins -- but when it was complete, Howe’s soldiers lay dead.  A glance at her companions assured Bryallyn they were alright, though it was Fergus’ quick move to a nearby rack after shouldering his shield and sheathing his sword that left her with greater concern.

There was little about the person lying upon the rack to suggest to Fergus this was anyone he knew.  Still, there were a few signs to give his true identity away which Fergus recognized readily.  

“Oswyn!”  Fergus reached over and struggled with the bindings at the man’s wrists.  Zevran moved over to assist, and within moments Oswyn’s arms and legs were finally free.

“Was this s-s-s-supposed to be a … a lesson?” Oswyn stammered as Zevran assisted him off the platform bed and he slowly and awkwardly regained his feet.  “Did my father think it funny to leave me so long before sending aid?”

Fergus frowned.  His friend was looking right at him, but his eyes seemed dazed, almost glazed over.  “Oswyn, do you not recognize me?” he asked.  

Oswyn blinked, head turning slowly, though he looked to be considering the question carefully.  

“It’s Fergus, Oswyn.  Fergus Cousland.”

Bryallyn moved over to stand beside her brother.  She knew of Bann Sighard’s son, of course, and had met him once or twice long ago, but it was with Fergus with whom he had developed a friendship.  “Easy, brother.  Howe has done a number on him,” she murmured gently.

Fergus’ shoulders eased when a moment later Oswyn began showing signs of recognition.  The pinched expression around his eyes smoothed and relief became apparent.  What might have turned to panic receded as well.  “F-Fergus?”

“Thank the Maker,” he breathed.  “Oswyn, I spoke to your father weeks ago and we have been looking for you ever since.  The trail brought us to Denerim at first, but grew cold.”  He paused, a moment of regret guilting him.  “We should have looked harder then.”

“You … you have?”  Oswyn coughed, a harsh sound that clearly needed attending by a healing mage.  “You’ve been looking for me?  Is that why you are here, then?”

“We are here,” Bryallyn spoke up, “on behalf of the rightful king of Ferelden, Alistair Theirin.”

Oswyn blinked again.  It was difficult to tell if it was due to Bryallyn’s announcement or simply the change in people speaking to him.  “Maric’s bastard?” he asked, though his voice was sounding stronger now.  “Then I need not question why you’re here for his claim to the throne is the greatest threat to Loghain’s regime.”  

His eyes drifted back to Fergus.  He tried to straighten, but they could see the wince of pain in his eyes as he moved.  “You have my heartfelt gratitude for finding me, my friend,” he said.  “And no doubt, my father’s and all of Dragon’s Peak bannorn.”

“Would he stand against Loghain at the Landsmeet?” Bryallyn queried.

Oswyn’s eyes widened.  “Then there is to be a Landsmeet after all?  Howe said that the Arl of Redcliffe was dead and the Landsmeet had been called off.”  Head shaking back and forth, he continued, “Not surprising, I suppose.  Bryallyn, isn’t it?”

Bryallyn nodded.  “Warden Bryallyn,” she clarified.

The mention of Warden resulted in a nod, a smile curving at his lips.  “Warden, you say?  Well Warden, you have my word, if there be any forum to speak out against Howe and Loghain, my father will be there.  I will see to it.”

Fergus nodded.  “That will be greatly appreciated.”

Oswyn appeared to almost crumple after that.  “Please,” he groaned softly, “I should go find him.  Father will want to know what has happened.”

Leliana stepped forward then, Zevran beside her.  Between them both, they held a set of armor from one of Oswyn’s former captors.  “You should wear this,” she suggested gently.  “While the path behind us is clear for the most part, you will still be recognizable unless you are in disguise.”

Oswyn’s eyes dropped to the armor and he stared for a minute.  “Of course,” he finally acknowledged, “you are right.  Thank you.”

Bryallyn pulled Zevran and Leliana away from him, though Fergus stayed to speak quietly for another moment or two.  “Curiouser and curiouser,” Leliana mused softly.

Bryallyn nodded.  “I knew Fergus was looking for him,” she murmured, “but I never would have thought Howe would capture and torture him!”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures, my friend,” Zevran counseled.  “Perhaps Howe is beginning to feel the pressure of us closing in on him, no?”

Bryallyn’s face darkened as she nodded.  “We can only hope.”

 

~ n ~

 

“This is taking too long.”

Fergus glanced up at his sister before rising to his feet once more, barely sparing one last glance of disgust at the man who now lay dead at his feet.  Sighing, he sheathed his sword and nodded.  “Patience, sister.  I will admit I agree, but I can’t say this was a complete waste of time.”

“I must agree with you in that regard, my friend,” Zevran chimed in.

Bryallyn’s eyes dropped to meet the blank, lifeless stare of Vaughan Kendells.  Zevran found the cell containing the alienage elf, Soris, and Soris told them what befell the elves of Denerim and how the son of Arl Urien of Denerim treated them, including his cousins.  While Bryallyn and Leliana led Soris away, escorting him to the exit out of the dungeons, Fergus and Zevran questioned Vaughan.  Bryallyn returned just in time to hear the admission of guilt from the man’s own lips, as well as his lack of remorse.  Though his death was disappointing -- for now they would now not have Vaughan’s support at the Landsmeet -- Bryallyn could find no sorrow in his passing.  The man had been a snake and deserved this outcome after causing the suffering of so many innocents.  “No,” she concurred, “I guess not.  Still, we need to hurry.  The longer it takes us to get to Howe, the more danger Nathaniel is in.”

She turned to lead the way out of this particular block of cells, but before she could open the door, she heard a voice from the far end of the hall murmuring in prayer.  Looking up at Fergus, she asked, “Did you not check all the cells?”

Fergus glanced at Zevran who shook his head.  In response, Leliana turned to head to the far side.  “We were sidetracked by the elf and Vaughan,” Fergus admitted.  

“Bryallyn,” Leliana called out, “you may wish to see this.”

Bryallyn approached to find the cell door unlocked and a man clad only in his smalls kneeling on the floor and praying.  His head was dropped when she first approached, but a moment later, he glanced up.  In the moment of recognition that followed, Bryallyn gasped.  “Irminric?”  

“What was that?”  Fergus hurried over to stand beside his sister.  Both of them knew the Eremon family well, though it had been years since they’d last seen Alfstanna’s older brother Irminric.

Now a Knight Lieutenant in the Templar ranks, he looked confused and his words provided additional proof of his state when he mistakenly addressed Bryallyn by his sister’s name.  Kneeling in front of him, Bryallyn murmured gently, “No, Irminric, I am Bryallyn Cousland.  Do you not remember me?”

His eyes searched hers for a long moment before lifting to meet Fergus’.  Briefly, they saw recognition behind them and he seemed to ease.  “I … I do remember you,” he stammered.  

“Alfstanna is here in the city,” Bryallyn told him.  “If you like we can --”

“No.”  His right hand reached for his left and after a moment’s struggle, he managed to twist off the ring he’d been wearing.  “Just … give this ring to my sister,” he begged.  “Tell her … tell her I’m sorry.  Ask her to pray for me.”

It was on the tip of Bryallyn’s tongue to reassure him he had nothing to be sorry for, but a strong hand at her shoulder squeezed and kept her silent.  “We will tell her,” Fergus promised, reaching over to take the ring.  He slipped it onto his finger for safe keeping then urged Bryallyn to fall back.  Reluctantly, she agreed.

“I will talk to Alfstanna as soon as we return,” Fergus told her.  “If Irminric is content for the moment, leave him be.  I suspect he would not make it out of here safely without assistance which we can ill afford to give him right now.”

Bryallyn sighed.  “I suppose,” she acknowledged after a moment.  “Still, it doesn’t sit well with me to leave him here like this.”

“I know, but it’s for his own safety,” Fergus reasoned.  

While Bryallyn, Fergus, and Leliana were attending to Irminric, Zevran scouted around the area.  He now returned, feet quick but silent against the stone floor.  “Warden,” he murmured with some urgency, “I believe we have the man cornered.  There is but one doorway left, and I heard movement beyond it.”

Bryallyn glanced up at Fergus, her features darkening with intent at this news.  “Are you ready, brother?” she asked while pulling her blades free once more.  

Fergus reached for his sword and shield.  “I am ready,” he agreed.

Bryallyn nodded.  “Right then.  Let us get this over and done with,” she told them.   

 


	96. Family Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, huge thanks to my beta, Erynnar!

 

_ Arl Eamon’s Estate _

 

_“Any questions?” Bryallyn asked after briefing the others on the mission plan.  When there was no response, she nodded, realizing this late in their journeys together, most knew their part well enough that extraneous explanations were not necessary.  Those who were new to the group either trusted her or would not be directly involved.  Nodding, she concluded, “Right then.  Let’s go.”_

_Before departing, Bryallyn took one last look over at Alistair.  He gave her a lopsided smile which eased a little of the still remaining tension due to Nathaniel’s last minute addition to their plan, and Bryallyn managed to find one to return._

_“They will be expecting you,” Alistair said pointing out the obvious.  “You realize that, don’t you?”_

_Walking to his side, she murmured, “I am well aware we are walking into a trap, Alistair, but it may result in something we can turn to our advantage.”_

_His eyes searched her face and for the first time since she’d known him, Bryallyn dropped her eyes to keep him from reading her thoughts too clearly.  He might not realize it yet, but she recognized the signs he was instinctively using the skills Leliana had taught him that would, hopefully, one day serve him well in his role as king._

_“Nathaniel will be fine.”_

_Eyes still lowered, her smile widened a fraction.  Though the words were plain enough, she heard the heartfelt reassurance behind them._ How far you have come, _she thought silently.  In response to his comment, she breathed, “Maker, I hope so!  I should never have agreed to -”_

_“Bry, from what I’ve seen, he had choice other than to do this for himself.”  He made a small movement with his hand and she finally lifted her gaze to meet his again.  “You can’t fix everything for everyone, my friend,” he told her._

_She sighed and gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile followed by a small wince._ Apparently, I have come a long way as well, if that is how you see things. _“I know.”  She would have argued -- there was a ‘but’ at the end of that statement hanging loosely at the tip of her tongue -- but there was no point in it.  After another soft sigh, she decided to turn the subject.  “You aren’t angry with me, are you?  Leaving you behind this time?”_

_Alistair looked startled for a moment and paused, his eyes hooding slightly -- THAT was new! -- while he considered the matter.  “Leaving me behind on a mission where we would be walking into known traps -- and you know how well I do with traps -- all in order to keep me safe from whatever dastardly devious deed Howe might have in store for us?”  He winked at her, grinning.  “I would have fought by your side in a heartbeat,” he told her quietly, “and I will mind should something awful happen to you --”_

_“It won’t,” she promised._

_He chuckled.  “You say that, but we both know if something does it will end up with me leading ….”_

_Her smile widened and finally reached her eyes.  “... and everyone will lose their pants.  I remember.”  A sound from the doorway behind her had Bryallyn glancing over to find her brother standing there.  His only signal was an inclination of his head towards the front door.  It was time to go.  Looking back to Alistair, her demeanor turned serious once more.  “Alistair, if anything_ should _happen to me ….”_

_His hand rose, clasping her firmly on the shoulder.  “It won’t,” he told her sternly, “but I know what to do, and if it does happen, I will see it through.  I promise.  Maker go with you, my friend.”_

_Another bit of the baggage she carried lifted off her shoulders, lightening the load just a little more.  Nodding, she clasped him forearm to forearm in solidarity.  “And with you.”_

~ n ~

Arl of Denerim’s Estate

 

Bryallyn gestured Zevran and Leliana away from the monster standing before them, her hands coming to rest upon the hilts of her blades at her hips to rest.  She trusted her two companions to honor their earlier promises and allow her or her brother to take the lead.  The desire to end this man once and for all, after all he’d done to destroy her family, was great.  However, it wouldn’t bring those who were lost back.  The desire for vengeance was strong, but others had suffered at his hands as well.  Why should the Couslands be the only ones to see justice done?  Her parents surely would have done the same.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t prepared for the worst.  Her father underestimated Rendon Howe at the cost of his life.  Bryallyn refused to allow the same.  

Her eyes surveying the room, Bryallyn silently noted the positions of Howe’s guards and mage nearby.  They might present a challenge but for the fact that she knew she and her brother were much better trained than they were.  Arrogance was one thing.  Knowledge and experience were another.  Highever trained the best.  The fact she and Fergus survived so long only served to prove that.  

Rendon chuckled as her eyes settled upon him, the sound dark and daunting as it echoed around the room, reverberating oddly against the stone walls back in Bryallyn’s direction.  “I am surprised to find you here, my dear,” he announced.  “Shocked even that Eamon would condone your invasion of my castle and the murdering my men.  Is he losing faith in the persuasive powers of his Landsmeet?”

“We are here for Anora,” Fergus answered.  His tone was neutral enough, but standing so near her brother, Bryallyn sensed the hum of readiness that bristled from his posture even without his sword and shield at the ready.  

“The traitorous bitch has you under her thumb?”  Rendon laughed, the sound less than reassuring, but Bryallyn couldn’t decide if she should be more concerned for Anora or themselves because of it.  

Fergus lifted his brow in query.  “I’m surprised you have the gall to lock the Queen away as if she were some commoner,” he mused.

Rendon’s laughter continued.  “Anora does love her games, doesn’t she?” he countered.  “Though, I _am_ surprised she’d play with the likes of you.”

“We are no pawns on a chessboard,” Bryallyn replied in a level tone though inside she wanted to scream.  

“And yet, you move as she commands.”  He paused for a moment, glancing over his shoulder at one of his guards and nodding once before he returned to face the Couslands.  “Ah well.  If it isn’t her games you play, I guess it will be mine.”

A door opened then, the squeaking hinges in dire need of oil in the dampness of the dungeons.  Behind Rendon, Bryallyn caught a movement and her vision drifted over his shoulder.  What she found there caused her eyes to widen a fraction, but she struggled briefly and finally managed to hold herself together.  Her brother’s gasp, on the other hand, whispered across the room.  

“As you can see,” Rendon continued smugly, “I know how to play the game well.”

Bryallyn’s gaze connected with her husband’s as his head was forcibly tilted and their eyes met briefly.  Two guards held him between them, his tall frame slouched over and curling into himself as if suffering from tremendous pain.  His head showed signs of battering and bruising, including some swelling near his left eye.  Hints of blood trickling at the corner of his lips and nose were unmistakable, even in the dim lighting of the dungeon.  But behind it all, in the steel blue depths of his gaze, Bryallyn saw the truth and bit back a smile.  Locking away any emotional reaction to seeing her husband presented to her so abused, her eyes shifted back to Rendon.  “That is debatable,” she replied mildly.  

It was difficult to determine if her reactions were needling him at all, but the sneer in his next words had a hint of irritation and gave Bryallyn hope.  “You should have left while you had the chance, Warden.  Slunk off to hide in the Anderfels with the rest of your kind.  The Landsmeet is a farce.  Loghain will triumph and you will die.”

A smile curved at Bryallyn’s lips as the right side curled upwards.  It did not reach or replace the cold harshness of her eyes, however.  “Is that so?  Loghain will not triumph without the support of the Landsmeet, and his hold over them is tenuous at best.  Rebellion across the land plus the threat of the Blight and the darkspawn moving ever further north?  Refugees fleeing the country because so little help and assistance can be found?”  Her snort of wry amusement darkened the expression in her eyes.  “At this rate there won’t be a country left for him to rule.”

Rendon’s eyes darkened along with his scowl.  “Fanciful to the very end.  You should have learned your place better.  Your parents always did spoil you.”

Bryallyn ignored the jibe.  “Is that why you killed them and the innocents who remained at Castle Cousland that night?  Because you think my parents spoiled me?” she challenged softly.  Beside her, Fergus snorted but said nothing.

“You were hardly worth my notice back then,” he scoffed.

“That’s not how I remember it,” she jibed.  “I seem to recall your annoyance that Nathaniel was the one to win my hand and not Thomas.”

There was a subtle shift in the room and it took a distracted moment for Bryallyn to realize it came not just from one source.  Her eyes remained upon Rendon, but out of the corner she could see a hint of change in Nathaniel’s stance; a slight straightening within the arms of his captors who appeared oblivious to it.  And beside her, Fergus tossed a quick questioning gaze in her direction, but otherwise remained silent.  

“It did not matter which son succeeded,” Rendon retorted, though Bryallyn noticed a hint of surprise in his eyes that she had known, “just so long as a Howe married a Cousland.”

“If that’s true, then why did you send your men against us on our marriage trip?” she asked, her head tilting slightly as she watched closely for any telltale reaction.  “Men you disguised in the heraldry of Lord Doran Antell?  Innocents were killed that night as well, though not the two you wished.”

“And now the prodigal daughter returns in defense of my son?” he countered with no acknowledgement or denial of her accusations.  “Interesting developments all around, wouldn’t you say?”

This time Bryallyn held her tongue as Nathaniel advised so many years before.  Hands still resting atop the hilts of her blades, she found herself wishing she could simply slip into the shadows like Nathaniel so often did.  Still, her skills had improved over the past year, and the only ones in the room who were aware were Leliana and Zevran.  That was an advantage, and one Bryallyn would not give away just yet.

Howe’s focus narrowed on her solely, hawk-like eyes intent as any cat eyeing its prey.  “Shall I tell you about your parents that night?” he taunted in a silken tone.  “Would you like to hear how your father was forced to watch as your mother was made to kiss my feet ....?”

Bryallyn called on all of her instincts from her ranger training as well as those Zevran and Leliana had been teaching her for months to keep herself from reacting to his words.  She felt a twitch at her side and realized Fergus would have more difficulty than she, his training more on the art of fighting rather than the serenity and focus required of a ranger.  She spared a half glance over at Nathaniel and caught the familiar look crossing his features.  Another minute or so and he would be ready.

But Rendon was not to be denied.  Rocking back and forth on his heels once, he pulled his blades free and faced Bryallyn.  Beside her, the soft hiss of metal against a sheath signaled Fergus drawing his blade.  But still, Bryallyn did not wrap her fingers around the hilts of her own.  

“Now, really, here I am trying to have a civilized conversation,” he moved quickly to her left, his arm darting out with one of his blades and catching Bry’s left forearm, slicing open the leather gauntlet she wore, “and you are behaving rather rudely, daughter.  One might have thought with parents such as yours you might have at least learned manners and respect towards your elders.”

Fergus hoisted his shield upon his arm and growled, a decidedly angry sound and one that Bryallyn decided then and there she never ever wanted to be in opposition to.  His request was silent, more felt in his continued proximity to her than in any spoken words, but Bryallyn refused to let her brother into the fray just yet.  No, she had an altogether different plan in mind.  For the moment, she kept her total focus in front of her, turning as necessary to keep Rendon before her.  This particular dance would be a more dangerous and deadly one than any she’d ever played before, including against the darkspawn, and Bryallyn was intent to survive.  

Rendon lunged forward quickly, but Bryallyn read his intent in his eyes and darted to her left.  Still, his strike hit home, catching the leather covering her arm, though little damage was done.  Fergus reacted by spinning, but a shout from Bryallyn held him back.  For her part, Bry spun on her heel, keeping her father-by-marriage in her sights.  Her fingers closed around her blades and drew them free, her posture falling into one of defense.

After the success of his first strike, he lashed out again.  And again.  Bryallyn managed to block most of the swings after the first if only by dodging them, but it didn’t take her long to realize he was only toying her, testing her.  She had no doubt he remembered her strengths lay in the fact she was a ranger and not as skilled with blades as she was with a bow.  

Another strike hit home, his blade catching the belt holding her sheathes at her hips and fell to the floor at her feet.  A small snarl escaped her lips, a noise almost like the growl of the wolf she normally called upon for assistance.  Drawing upon everything she’d learned over the years from her friends, her enemies and her life’s experiences, she launched a full frontal attack.  Her goal was simple: engage the elder Howe and keep him occupied until she could turn a mistake against him.

Again the man spoke, his voice a lure to tempt her closer to danger.  "Isn't this precious? Is this where I lament the monster I helped create? Let me show you how it's done, daughter! I made your mother kiss my feet before she died, it was the last thing your father saw,” he spat. “Your father bleeding out at my feet and your mother beside him; and along with them your brother’s brat burning on a scrap heap with his Antivan whore of a mother. And what's left? A fool husk of a daughter likely to end her days under a rock in the Deep Roads. Even the Wardens are gone, girl. You are the last of nothing. This is pointless... You've lost."

Bryallyn ignored the shout of rage, betrayal and anguish behind her as Fergus launched himself at Rendon’s men.  The fact he’d remained out of it for so long was a testament to his years of training.  The thought to shout him back again never even occurred to her.  He required retribution as much as she.  Sneering at Rendon, Bryallyn’s blade moved against not only him but the pain and utter frustration he had caused her entire family since that night.  

Though ranger she might be, the tips and tricks and skills she’d picked up were now put on display for all to see.  She ducked and dodged his blades, darting between the movements and slicing with her own.  The first contact she made with her blade -- across his upper left arm -- left him shocked and bewildered for only a moment, but it was long enough.  He had the advantage with size and skill, perhaps, but Bryallyn was more creative.  She swiped out with her leg, causing him to stumble.  One blade jabbed at his hip while the other moved across his upper thigh.  Though little blood was drawn, his armor took a beating and with each and every action and reaction she made and her continued refusal to back down from the fight, Rendon struck back with renewed vigor.  He, too, landed several blows that would normally have taken down a man in the process.  Bryallyn understood she was outmatched, but her intent had never been to defeat this man on her own.  

_Nathaniel!_

As if he hearing her silent plea, Rendon suddenly suffered a blow from behind, a blade connecting through his armor along his shoulder.  Bryallyn gasped for breath, stumbling to the side as she came to a halt.  Nathaniel slipped into her place from the shadows, moving against his father with grace and beauty of one feeling no ill-effects from his imprisonment and torture.  Enraged, Rendon threw himself against his son, but he stood no chance against a man who had far superior training tinged with the flavor of betrayal.  Nathaniel soon had his father on the floor, lying in a pool of his own blood.  Kneeling beside him, Bryallyn stepped over to stend beside him, both listening as the elder man gasped, “I ... deserved ... more.”

Bryallyn, her hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder, said nothing.  Nathaniel reached over his father’s now still form, grasped his hands and removed two rings from them.  Rising to his feet at long last, he turned just enough to pull Bryallyn close, tucking her head beneath his chin even as he felt her her body shudder beneath his touch.  For them, the anguish found release at last.  The head of the snake had been severed.

After a long moment, Nathaniel lifted his head and glanced around to see Leliana speaking quietly to Fergus on the far side of the room while Zevran searched the bodies of the deceased.  Reaching down, Nathaniel lifted Bryallyn’s chin so that their eyes could lock.  “You did well,” he told her honestly.  “I will admit I was afraid you’d forgotten what I taught you ....”

Bryallyn blushed.  Ducking her head for a brief moment she murmured, “Friends insisted I continue my training once they discovered my skills were severely lacking.”  Then giving him a small smile, she added, “But your lessons gave me focus.  And hope.”

Nathaniel found a small chuckle of amusement and pulled her close again.  “Friends, hmm?”

Bryallyn managed a soft laugh at last and reluctantly pulled back.  “You can thank Teagan later,” she told him.  “He colluded with Leliana and Zevran who then began an intensive training program for me on our journey from Rainesfere to Denerim.”

Nathaniel smiled down at his wife before his eyes drifted to find Zevran, now rising back to his feet and clearly satisfied with the results of his handiwork.  Nathaniel nodded in the elf’s direction, hoping to express his thanks to him and Leliana for their role in continuing Bryallyn’s training.  Per what Nathaniel was coming to expect from the Antivan, Zevran returned the look with a sassy smirk before turning to speak with Fergus and Leliana.  Shaking his head -- Bryallyn had come across some odd companions during their time apart -- Nathaniel looked down at her again.  “We need to finish what we’ve started,” he told her.

Bryallyn nodded.  “Anora will be waiting upstairs,” she told him.  “I only hope whatever remains from this scheme will play out easily and quickly!”

Joining the others, Nathaniel nodded at Fergus before reaching out and handing him one of the rings he’d taken from his father.  “I believe this is yours, Teyrn Cousland?”

Bryallyn’s eyes were drawn to the family signet ring as her brother simply held it for a very long moment.  The signet was symbolic of more than just their family heritage; it was the first step in reclaiming their birthright.  The Cousland laurels were etched into the metal surface which surrounded a blue sapphire, and engraved into the silver surrounding it were the words _Duty First_.  Bry’s eyes met her brother’s and she nodded, giving him a smile of encouragement.  Only then did Fergus slide the ring on his third finger of his left hand.  Looking over at Nathaniel, he nodded, unable to find his voice.  

Nathaniel, reaching out, clapped his hand to Fergus’ shoulder.  No words were necessary as far as he was concerned.

Taking a deep breath, Bryallyn straightened her shoulders.  “The queen awaits,” she murmured.

Fergus nodded.  “Let’s get this over with.”

 

~ n ~

 

Anora was prepared for their return, and once the magical seal over the door was released, she exited the room.  Bryallyn’s brow lifted in a mixture of amusement and question.  “Interesting choice of disguise, Your Majesty,” she observed, taking in the suit of Howe armor the queen wore.

Anora sniffed, a sound of disdain as well as exasperation.  “Some of us were limited in what we could do to attain our freedom, Warden,” she replied.

“Don’t you think it rather convenient?” Bry countered.  She was still unconvinced that Anora had not willingly partaken in whatever this plot of Howe’s had been.

The royal brow lifted to scrutinize Bryallyn.  For her part, Bryallyn met the look and held it.  She was no shy wallflower, willing to simply abide by royal authority simply because it was spoken.  If she had learned anything over the past year it was that she had to stand up for herself, to protect those she cared most about because ultimately, someone would be out to take them from her.  

“The armor was left inside the room,” Anora finally admitted.  “No weapons, of course, but it’s something at least.”

“As I said, convenient.”  

Sighing softly, Bryallyn glanced over at Nathaniel and Fergus who both inclined their heads towards her for the moment, content to let her make the decisions.  As she saw it, they had only one possibility for leaving the estate: out the way they had come.  There was an exit before they reached the majority of the remaining soldiers, as Bryallyn recalled, but the risk was still great.  And it was one they would have to take.  “Alright,” she decided.  “Fergus, you, Zevran and Leliana stick to the queen.  Keep her safe at all costs.  Erlina, too.  Nathaniel and I will lead the way.  If we run into any resistance, do whatever you have to and get her out of here and back to Eamon’s estate.”

“And you?” Fergus asked, stepping up beside the queen while giving her a nod in greeting.

Bryallyn looked over at her brother.  “Don’t worry about us,” she insisted.  “The main objective is to get Anora out of here safely.”  She reached for her blades and pulled them free before darting a quick look over to her husband.  He nodded, accepting her decision.  “Right then, let’s go.”

Bryallyn and Nathaniel moved a short ways ahead of the group so they could scout out the area and give the alarm if necessary.  As they slipped into the shadows -- a move that Nathaniel was far better at than Bryallyn, even she could admit it -- she murmured to him, “Be on alert.  I still can’t shake the feeling that this is a trap of some sort.  This entire mission has been too easy.”

Though he had no time to get into the details of his captivity at his father’s hands just then, Nathaniel nodded his agreement because, all things considered, he’d noticed the same.  “Knowing my father, I must agree.”

They turned a corner, leaving the private apartments and entering the main foyer, but before they were inside more than a few feet, both Bryallyn and Nathaniel realized the trap they’d been certain was awaiting them was finally sprung.  Not surprisingly, Loghain was involved.

As an armed and armored woman stepped towards them, Bryallyn recognized Ser Cauthrien.  “Warden, in the name of the regent, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Rendon Howe and his men at arms.  Surrender, and you may be shown mercy.”

Bryallyn stopped short, motioning her husband to do the same and praying that behind them Fergus and the others heard what was happening before they walked into the mess themselves.  Since Loghain’s lieutenant spoke directly to her, Bryallyn took another step forward as she responded, “Clearly you are mistaken, Ser Cauthrien.  My husband and I were here for a family reunion and nothing more.  Or does the regent have issue with me visiting my father-by-marriage?”

If looks meant anything, the disdain in Cauthrien’s eyes should have bowled Bryallyn to the ground on the spot.  “Your family history precedes you, Warden,” she countered.  “It is well known you and Rendon Howe have ill feelings between --”

“Any ill feelings were caused by my father,” Nathaniel insisted as he, too, took a step forward.  “It is as my wife says -- we were here to try and heal the wounds he inflicted.”

Behind Cauthrien stood at least a dozen soldiers as well armored and armed as she and at least one mage.  It was clear that Loghain’s lieutenant intended to use intimidation to gain their cooperation, but Bryallyn wasn’t willing to give either her or Loghain that sort of satisfaction.  “I must admit I am curious why you think we killed him,” Bryallyn continued, eyes narrowing in on the soldier, “when all we were here for was discussion.”

Cauthrien’s lips flattened and her eyes narrowed to match Bryallyn’s.  “Lies do not suit you, Warden.”

Bryallyn snorted angrily, “Neither does your support of a traitorous murdering bastard!”

Reaching out and grasping her arm, giving it a quick squeeze, Nathaniel chimed in, “The point of this is --”

But Cauthrien cut him off with a sharp slice of her hand.  In the same movement, she reached for her sword and shield.  “That’s just it, isn’t it?  There is no point.  You murdered Howe and the regent will have you arrested for that!”

With no option to further protest, Bryallyn and Nathaniel reached for their weapons as the Cauthrien signalled the rest of the soldiers forward.  Whether due to training or simply instinct, Bryallyn ended up back to back with her husband as they fought against their opponents.  And while her skill with the blades lacked in experience compared to his, she did manage to hold her own for a time, taking down three of Cauthrien’s soldiers in the process.  

But somewhere along the way, she and Nathaniel became separated and their opponents split up to cover each of them individually.  In the end, when they discovered Nathaniel was the greater threat, more turned their focus from Bryallyn to him.  He managed to take out three more over time, and he saw his wife send one to the floor, but in those last moments, when he still had six or seven closing in on him and Bryallyn was overmatched by two, his heart nearly stopped.  She took a blow to her shoulder, and even from his distance Nathaniel could tell it hit hard, and she dropped awkwardly to the floor.  He would never be certain if it was his imagination or the actual sound of her head hitting against the floor, but in that moment he was distracted just enough to miss the incoming blow to the back of his own head ….  

 


	97. Howe's Moving Castle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to Erynnar!

 

_Bryallyn …._

The voice, familiar in pitch and tone, poked at her from far away as it called to her, like Nan would do on mornings when Bryallyn slept too late.  Just as then, Bryallyn was reluctant to follow, preferring the safety and security of oblivion.  Still, with recognition came the inevitable acceptance that whatever state of painless obscurity she thought she might find within her dreams, reality was stronger as the aches and pains of their last battle began to sneak through.  Accompanying them were the hints of memories; of a battle in which they were sorely outnumbered, of a trap baited and set, of a setup that sparked anger and irritation on a level that nearly overwhelmed her, and along with that ….

Bryallyn groaned, her body twitching of its own free will even as she struggled to regain full consciousness.

_What the hell is Ser Cauthrien doing at Howe’s estate?_

“N-Nathaniel …?” 

Nathaniel’s eyes dropped to meet his wife’s, relief sagging his shoulders briefly.  That last hit he’d seen her take worried him, though he would not tell her that openly.  Outnumbered by three, her skill with her blades -- and even Nathaniel could appreciate the difference a year’s worth of training made in that regard -- still fell short when attempting to best some of Loghain’s best trained soldiers.  “Thank the Maker,” he breathed, leaning over to assist her in sitting up.  

Her eyes blinked a few times, adjusting to the dim lighting surrounding them.  It took a moment longer to realize that they were locked inside a cell.  “Where … are we?”  She pulled herself up slowly with his aid and stretched her arms over her head, wincing at the ache that shot across her shoulders with the movement.  

“My guess?  Fort Drakon.”  He shook his head.  He’d lost consciousness for a short while, too.  “I’m not sure exactly what happened back there -- how Cauthrien found out we were even there, unless my father had that planned, too.”  He scowled.  It was almost a shame the man was dead, he realized.  The urge to kill him all over again weighed more heavily upon him now after facing that last trap.  Had Rendon ever viewed him as a son? 

“Him … or perhaps Anora?  Cauthrien is Loghain’s most trusted lieutenant, after all,” Bryallyn mused.  Eyeing him, she her eyes traveled back to herself, realizing their clothing and armor had been removed and all that remained was their smallclothes.  “We need to find our things,” she added, pushing herself to her knees.  But the room began to spin and she sat back down quickly.

Nathaniel reacted on instinct, leaning over so her body could fall into his instead of hitting the stone floor.  And, despite the seriousness of their situation, he jested, “You do realize, don’t you, that by killing my father I’ve lost my birthright?”

The spinning room slowed after a moment as Bryallyn leaned against him.  “What do you mean?”

Nathaniel shrugged carefully, easing her to sit beside him and offering her what comfort he could.  It was difficult to miss the shiver that rippled through her in reaction to the cold.  “Chances are the crown will confiscate Amaranthine and all its properties after what he’s done.  Doesn’t matter what side I was on, I’ve lost everything.  I can’t even offer you and Bryce a home now.”

Bryallyn tried to focus on his words and blinked owlishly at him.  “You ... you’re worried about a piece of land?  A keep?”

Nathaniel gave her a small smile.  “Not even that now.  Just me.  We’ll be forever on the move across the countryside after this.”

The absurdity of it all -- what happened with his father, their current situation, that the world might come to an end before it even really mattered -- finally hit Bryallyn and she managed a half laugh before groaning as the pain of cracked ribs overtook the amusement.  “Howe’s ... moving ... castle ...,”** she murmured.

Nathaniel’s smile broadened before ending in a wince of discomfort as he felt a sharp pain twinge in his leg from an earlier injury.  “Sounds a bit ridiculous, I know, particularly given our current circumstances.”

“You know, if it’s even possible, I think I love you more now than I did before,” she tossed back at him after a moment.

His brow lifted.  “Because of my poor humor?”

She smiled warmly and leaned her cheek against his.  “Because you care enough to try.”  

He turned slightly, ducking down so he could press a quick kiss to her lips.  “For you, always.”

When he pulled back, Bryallyn took a deep breath and tried to move to her knees again.  This time and more slowly than before, she managed it without feeling dizzy.  Nathaniel followed, making it to his feet before she did and offering her a hand to take the final step up.  She leaned against him again as they stood, but their surroundings didn’t spin quite so crazily now.  Once she felt steady enough, she looked around until her eyes fell upon the heavy door keeping them inside.  “Locked, I suppose.”

Nathaniel nodded.  “I checked,” he told her.  “And they found my lockpick when my father first held me prisoner.”  As he spoke, his hand rose to the braid on the left side of his head where he usually kept one stashed for just such an event.  

“Well,” she said softly, her eyes drifting beyond the cell bars and focusing on something distant, “we can do one of two things, I suppose.”  But before she could elaborate, they heard footsteps approaching.  Her eyes met her husband’s and they both quickly dropped back to the floor and resumed their earlier positions.  Her back to the door, Bryallyn bit her lower lip to keep from crying aloud at the fresh aches and pains as her body was jostled about, but either the guard didn’t notice or he just didn’t care, and within a few moments he turned and walked back away.  

“Two options?”

Nathaniel’s quiet voice near her ears broke through the haze of pain and gave Bryallyn something on which to focus.  “Erm, yes.  We can sit here and wait for the others to send someone to come free us --”

Nathaniel frowned.  “That is a bit of a presumption, don’t you think?  What if they can’t get past the guards?”

Bryallyn groaned as a soft laugh escaped.  “You have seen Zevran,” she told him.  “Leliana, too.  I would put them up against anyone and have them come out on top.  Still, who knows how long that might take.”  Voices on the far side of their cell block wafted over to their side.  She couldn’t make out what was being said, just that there was more than one voice.  That sobered her up quickly.  “Or what they,” her head nodded in the direction of the voices, “might have in store for us.”

Nathaniel had to grunt his agreement on that account.  “And the other option?”

Bryallyn turned to face him.  “I flirt with the guard to get him over here and unlock the door, and you --”

“No.”

“Nate --”

“Absolutely not,” he insisted firmly.  “Why would you even think --”

Bryallyn’s green eyes began to spark with irritation.  “I was trained to think on my feet.  To do what needed to be done in any given situation.  Over this past year, I have honed that skill more than I ever thought I would have to in my lifetime.  I wouldn’t say it’s what I want to do, but if it means that we get out of here --”

This time Nathaniel’s head shook with his exclamation.  “No.  I will not let you --”

Bryallyn’s brow lifted and arched over her eye.  “ _Let me_?!  Since when is this your decision to make?”

Her voice rose along with her irritation, but it wasn’t until the footsteps returned, this time ringing with more determination behind them, that Bryallyn realized what happened.  “So, you _are_ awake after all.”

Bryallyn glared over at Nathaniel before tossing back at the guard, “Any dolt with two eyes and ears can figure that, I should think.”

He laughed, a sound that was anything but reassuring in its intent. “You’re quite the sassy one, aren’t you?”  

Pushing herself back up to her feet, Bryallyn completely ignored her husband as she transferred her anger to the man beyond the cell.  “And what would you know of me?” she demanded.  She crossed the cell and grasped the bars with her hands while staring hotly out at the man.  “Lackwits like you are a copper a dozen with change due back.  Can you even dress yourself without your commander supervising?”

Brow lifting, Nathaniel remained silent and observing, but he rose to his feet and moved a step or two closer to her.  While his original intention had been to rile Bryallyn into a third option -- anger over flirtation -- this was far better than he’d hoped from his normally calm, collected, respectful wife.  Was this due to the challenges she had been forced to face over the past year?  Perhaps something from joining with the Wardens?  Or was there something else driving her?  Perhaps she really _had_ been angry at his refusal ….  _Well, that is something I can deal with and fix later if need be._

Though keeping an ear on the conversation between the two, his eyes drifted down the hall beyond the soldier at the door just in case his companion chose to join him.  Surprisingly, no one came, even when the voices grew more heated.  It was only after an overly exaggerated sneer that Nathaniel brought his attention back around.

“You’ll pay for that, you bitch!” the soldier threatened while unlocking the door.

“Is that so?” Bryallyn taunted, stepping back from the bars a few paces.  Nathaniel could see anger taking full hold of her now, green eyes shining brightly and her lips still curled.   _Time for intervention, I think._

“I’ll teach you!”  

Nathaniel moved quickly, darting around behind the guard and throwing an arm around the soldier’s neck as he entered the cell and pulling tightly to cut off the air to his lungs.  The struggle that followed was short-lived, but he knew that they had little time to celebrate as the man’s unconscious slumped to the floor.  As he let go and stepped back, his eyes met Bry’s.  “When did you figure it out?” he asked.  He had no doubt now she’d known.

Bryallyn smirked.  “When he showed up outside the cell,” she admitted.  “Come on, let’s go get our things.”

“I told you there was a third option.”  He flashed a quick grin over at her -- how could he not, seeing her in action was something he could not help but admire -- and followed her out of the cell.

Quickly and quietly, they found the chest where their items were stored away and after a few minutes were ready to go.  

“We need to stick to the shadows,” Nathaniel told her as he peeked around the corner from the doorway leading out of the cell block.

Bryallyn snorted.  “We saw how well that worked for me back at the estate,” she reminded him.

But Nathaniel shook his head.  Leading her out, they began up the staircase to the main hall.  “I will lead the way.  Hopefully, it will be clear enough that --”

“Nathaniel, we are in the middle of Fort Drakon,” she pointed out, “and I have no doubt that Loghain has some of his own troops stationed among the guard here.  We won’t have as easy an exit from the building as we did that cell, I’m afraid.”

Nathaniel drew up short at the top landing, turning to face her and lifting a hand between them.  “Hold that thought, Love,” he whispered before ducking away to his right and leaving her standing there.  

Bryallyn blinked in some confusion as she watched him reach to his hair then work a lock on a nearby door.  The time it took for him to gain entry was little enough, but standing out in the middle of the landing as she was, she still felt exposed and time seemed to slow around her.  

“Here, put this on.”

She wasn’t certain how much time passed before his whisper was beside her ear again, this time making her jump as he succeeded in sneaking up behind her.  Spinning around, he placed a chest-piece and other armor pieces into her arm.  Armor that held the heraldry of King Cailan.  Guard armor.  “Maker’s breath!” she breathed, moving to change it out for the pieces she still wore from the Arl of Denerim’s estate.  The moment she removed the last piece, Nathaniel gathered it up and took it back into the room, locking the door on his way back out.  It was then that she noted he, too, wore city guard armor.  Feeling a smile tug at her lips, she breathed softly, “I love you.”

He grinned at her again as he adjusted his weapons.  “As I do you,” he assured her.  “That’s why we will escape.”

She nodded as a wave of hope washed over her then.  “Let’s go.”

Nathaniel remained in the shadows throughout most of the way, and Bryallyn tried to follow as best she could.  She knew her success was limited, however, when periodically a guard would look over at her and toss a casual comment her way.  Hurrying her footsteps the two times she was challenged, she clung to the excuse of being late for her shift until she could get out of their line of sight.  

The last time, however, the guard on duty did not believe her.  “Nathaniel!” she called over to him with some urgency in her tone as she picked up her pace and ran for the doors leading out of the prison and onto the city streets below.

But before Nathaniel could reply an accented voice from nearby murmured, “Is my lady Warden in need of assistance?”

“Zevran!”  Bryallyn turned on her heel, her hands reaching for her blades as she realized that her elf friend had come to help.  If he was here, then it was likely that Leliana or one of the others was too, and with them and Nathaniel, she felt certain they would be able to break free in short shrift.

What she did not expect was to find Sten, Wynne, and Constant pouring into the room from the front entry as well.  Laughing in amazement even as she felt a wave of healing magic wash over her, Bryallyn launched her counterattack upon the guard after her with renewed vigor.

It was all over in a matter of minutes.  

“I would suggest,” Zevran announced as he rose from the body of the guard he had taken down, “that we depart with due haste.  While they likely will not send anyone after us, it is entirely probable a messenger has been sent to alert the regent of what has occurred.”

Bryallyn nodded.  “Did Arl Eamon send you?” she asked as she followed the elf through the doors.  Constant trotted up beside her, nudging his head persistently against her hip until her hand dropped to scratch him behind his ears and along his neck in thanks for his assistance.

Zevran smiled, his teeth shining brightly in the moonlight.  “Alistair insisted,” he explained.  “He has the makings of a good king, I think.”

Relief swam through her system at this announcement.   _Thank you, my friend!_ she thought silently as they made their way through the streets.  “Indeed he does.”

Their journey back to the estate was quick enough all things considered.  Surprisingly, no alarm was sounded that they could tell, and no further attempts were made by any of the city guard to stop them.  Bryallyn’s intention was to first head to her room so that she could bathe and change and then see her son, in that order, but it soon became clear as she and Nathaniel were directed away from their rescuers that other plans had been made.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A reference to Hayao Miyazaki’s movie, “Howl’s Moving Castle” -- one of my all time favorites!


	98. Allegiance & Alliance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting – took a long weekend to celebrate my birthday and didn’t get around to this until this morning!  Enjoy! As always, thanks to Erynnar for being the best beta ever!

 

 

“Thank the Maker you both are alright!”

As greetings went, it was one of the sweetest to her ears and Bryallyn offered her brother a weary smile as she and Nathaniel were led into the private library.  “It’s good to see you, too, brother,” she responded.  “Did you make it back without incident?”

As the door to the room closed behind them, Bryallyn heard footsteps from her left.  “They returned safely,” Alistair announced, “if that’s what you mean.  Without incident might be putting too fine a point on things.”

Bryallyn frowned, glancing between him and her brother.  “That sounds less than reassuring.  What do you mean?”

Fergus sighed and shook his head.  “What he means is that the queen was rather vocal in her --”

But Alistair cut him off in his usual upfront sort of manner.  “Anora as much as admitted her involvement in the incident.”

Bryallyn gasped, her eyes widening.  So stunned was she that it took a moment to realize Nathaniel moved close enough to begin unstrapping the buckles to her borrowed armor.  She took over from him, but her fingers fumbled a bit with the clasps. “You can’t be serious!”

Fergus stepped forward to assist.  “It’s complicated,” he told her.  “He is serious, but only because he doesn’t fully understand the intricacies of politics just yet.”

“Heyyyyy,” Alistair protested, “I understood enough to know that when she said, ‘I may have done something foolish,’ she was accepting blame for her part in things.”

Bryallyn was down to her boots at this point and took a seat to remove them so they would no longer pinch at her feet.  Useful disguise they might be, but the person whose boots she had worn was a half size smaller than she.  “Wait a minute.  Back up about three steps and start over.”  Looking over at Fergus, she lifted a brow at him.  “Did you have trouble leaving the Arl of Denerim’s estate?”

“Not at all.  In fact, I could almost be persuaded to believe the trap was set specifically for you two, not us.”  He shook his head and muttered something beneath his breath.  “Like you, I considered Anora’s possession of armor to be too convenient.  During our journey back here, I questioned her about it.  Subtly, of course,” he added, giving his sister a quick wink.

Bryallyn sniffed.  Fergus had always been on better terms with the queen than she had.  It had to be an age thing.  “No doubt.”

“What I got from her was this: Howe asked her to visit,” the teyrn explained.  “I guess they were both butting heads when it came to advising Loghain on certain matters, and Rendon told her he wanted things between them to be better so they weren’t working against one another.”  

Nathaniel glanced over from where he sat removing his boots.  “That sounds like something my father would say.  But how did you get from that to her admitting complicity?”

Fergus chuckled.  “If there is one thing I know about Anora, it’s when she isn’t telling the full truth,” he said.  “She is good, I will give her that, but after living with Bry for so many years --”

Bryallyn’s head snapped up and she glared at her brother.  “Hey!  I never --!”

Nathaniel reached a hand over and squeezed her hand.  “Let him finish,” he suggested mildly.  “We need to know what this is all about.”  Bryallyn sighed and sat back.  

Still chuckling, Fergus continued.  He would catch hell from Bryallyn later, most likely, but hopefully it would also help her to relax after being in the cell at Fort Drakon.  Maker only knew what they’d faced there.  He didn’t even want to think about it.  “Your father,” he directed at Nathaniel, “invited Anora to the estate to talk and she agreed.  That much I believe was truth.  From everything I could determine, he treated her well enough, exactly as one might expect a queen would be treated.”

“Except?”

Sighing, Fergus nodded.  “Except.  I don’t know how to put it,” he admitted after a moment, hand rising to scratch at the back of his neck.  “I have known Anora most of our lives.  Oh, not in an overly familiar fashion -- she always had her eye on Cailan and I knew that -- but being the children of teyrns and of an age, we tended to move in similar circles.  When I spoke to her on our way back here, I could tell she was holding something back.  Not in a manner suggesting anything bad happened to her, but more like she simply was not sharing everything she knew.”

“Withholding information?”  Bryallyn glanced over at Fergus.  “You are no bard, brother.”

“No,” he readily agreed, “which is why I can’t help but wonder if I misread her.  And yet, I still have the feeling there is something she isn’t telling us.  I hate to think she might be involved in some sort of plot to harm you or Nathaniel, or the Wardens as a whole --”

“Or allow the Blight to succeed?” Alistair interjected.  

Bryallyn shook her head.  “I understand you and she are friends, Fergus, and that you want to believe the best, but we need to look at the facts.  Everyone from noble to farmer, maybe even the darkspawn themselves if they are sentient enough, knows that her marriage to Cailan was falling apart.  She knows it, and I have no doubt Loghain does as well.”  To what extent was anybody’s guess, but given Loghain’s general hatred of the Orlesians and from the documentation they’d found at Ostagar suggesting a political arrangement between the Empress and Cailan was at least being discussed, it was safe enough to make the assumption that if Loghain didn’t know the exact nature of things, he could guess.  “That aside, look at what Loghain has done.  He refused to send troops in at Ostagar which resulted in the death of the king.  He turned around and blamed the Wardens for Cailan’s death when he could have done something to prevent it.  He has stirred up a civil war in this country when we need to be uniting to fight against the darkspawn threat.  Need I go on?”

“Teagan mentioned that as early as right after Ostagar Anora was reluctant to acknowledge her father’s actions were to blame for the disastrous results there,” Alistair added.

“Which could simply be her supporting the man she knows and loves as father,” Fergus pointed out.

“True,” Bryallyn agreed, “but that was months ago.  Surely the things he’s done since are more than enough to prove he doesn’t have the best interests of the country in mind as regent?”

“My thoughts were along similar lines.”

Her brother’s admission did little but prove that he, at least, saw things clearly.  The queen, however, was an entirely different story.  Whether clouded by emotion or something else, if Anora did not see the truth of things, there was a problem, and one that needed to be resolved.  It was easy enough to say that she was not of royal blood -- that was Cailan’s claim, not hers -- and she _had_ led the country behind the scenes.  Bryallyn couldn’t even find fault in how she’d managed it over the years.  At least until Loghain assumed the role of regent.  That decision muddied the picture somewhat to the point that, to Bryallyn’s way of thinking, either pointed to a sudden lack of sound judgement of circumstances or Anora was rewarding her father for his retreat at Ostagar.  Either way, it wasn’t good for the country as a whole, as evidenced by Loghain’s further actions since assuming the role of regent.

“Eamon thinks it will be easier for us at the Landsmeet if we have Anora’s support,” Alistair offered.  “He’s even hinted that a marriage between us should be considered.”

Bryallyn’s eyes darted over to her friend’s.  That was news to her, though not completely unexpected.  Marriages arranged for political connections and to strengthen alliances were common enough among the nobility, though even she would admit suggesting that Anora marry her dead husband’s half brother was a bit on the extreme side of things.  “Is that what _you_ want, Alistair?”

Alistair sighed and dropped into a nearby empty chair.  “Honestly?  If it came down to it, I’d rather marry a darkspawn,” he quipped with only the faintest hint of desperation behind it.

Bryallyn turned to face him so their eyes could meet even though her husband and brother chuckled at his reply.  She knew Alistair well enough by now to understand what he wasn’t voicing aloud just then.  “Do you remember what I told you after we left Goldanna’s?” she asked quietly.

He nodded immediately.  “I do, but this is --”

“This is exactly the same thing,” she insisted.  “If you think you and Anora would make a good match, that’s one thing.  But if you don’t ….”

Alistair shook his head.  “It makes my stomach turn at the thought,” he informed her.  “I spent a few minutes with her after she arrived.  At Eamon’s suggestion.”  He paused and sighed and Bryallyn recognized that he was trying to find a more polite way of saying what he thought.  Finally, he repeated, “A darkspawn would be more preferable.”

Nathaniel frowned.  “Why is Eamon so insistent you marry Anora?  I can think of at the very least a half-dozen other nobles’ daughters who would be potential candidates.”

“He thinks her political expertise would be a ‘great asset,’” Alistair explained.  “Personally, from what she said when we spoke, I get the impression she expects me to just sit on the throne and look pretty while she continues to rule.”

“I have no doubt that’s exactly what she expects,” Bryallyn replied.  “It is, after all, more or less what she did while Cailan was king.”

“Of course, it will all be a moot point if we don’t stop the Blight,” Alistair reminded her.  “And speaking of which --”

Bryallyn inhaled sharply as the memory surfaced.  “Riordan!”

Alistair nodded.  “He arrived a short while before Anora did.  He’ll be alright -- Wynne’s been taking care of him -- but he did say he wanted to speak to us both later.”  He glanced apologetically between Nathaniel and Fergus.  “Grey Warden business.”

Fergus nodded.  “That is understandable,” he replied.  “And in the meantime, I’m sure we can come up with a list of more suitable candidates for your queen.  In fact --”

The door to the Library was thrown open with a loud bang and in the half second before Bryallyn’s gaze left Alistair’s to turn and identify the intruder, she noticed his reaction.  What began as surprise faded almost instantly to recognition of something familiar and … welcome?

“ _There_ you are!  What in the Maker’s name were you _thinking_ , Nate?  Why would you slip away in the middle of the night and just give yourself over to father like that?”

Bryallyn bit back a laugh as Delilah stormed into the room, demanding an explanation of her brother’s actions.

“Now, Delilah --”

But his sister wasn’t in the mood for his placating.  “Don’t you ‘Now, Delilah’ me!  He could have killed you!”

Fergus, Bryallyn saw, was unobtrusively making his way out of the room, Alistair close on his heels.  One last thing she noticed, however, were the couple of quick glances Alistair darted in Delilah’s direction as he went, his lips curving into the barest hint of a smile.  Bryallyn was torn.  She wanted very much to go after her friend and question him about this new behavior, but she wasn’t about to abandon her husband to his sister.  While she knew he didn’t necessarily require her assistance, Bryallyn was prepared to offer him whatever support he might need.  In the end, she remained where she was while deciding she could find Alistair later to get an explanation.

 

~ n ~

 

“Thank the Maker they are safe!” Alfstanna greeted Fergus.

While the _Gnawed Noble_ outwardly served as a gathering place for food and drink, it had a secondary function as well, serving as an inn for the nobility who had no estate or other lodgings within the capital city.  Among their more frequent customers in this regard was Bann Alfstanna Eremon of the Waking Sea bannorn.  She was also a family friend to the Couslands, and a staunch ally.  It was only logical Fergus would turn and seek her out.  “Indeed,” he agreed, accepting the quick hug she offered.  “I’ll admit, when I saw Bryallyn go down during that battle, I had my doubts.”

“I can imagine.”  She gestured him into the sitting room attached to her suite and Fergus was not surprised to find Teagan sitting there.  The Bann of Rainesfere nodded his own greeting which Fergus returned as he took a seat.  “You two look as if you are up to something.”

Alfstanna glanced sideways over at Teagan.  “You know us too well, my friend,” she murmured, though she smiled warmly as she said it.

“We were discussing possible Landsmeet strategies,” Teagan explained.  “After all, it isn’t every day you try to place the former king’s bastard on the throne.”

“True enough,” Fergus agreed.

“Do you have any insight into this new king of ours?” Alfstanna asked.  “Teagan only has stories from the poor man’s youth to share.”

Fergus chuckled.  He’d heard some of those stories from Alistair’s point of view since meeting him, and he wondered how they might compare.  “I’ve only known him for a short time.  However, Bryallyn trusts him and is behind his claim one hundred percent.  The little Alistair and I have spoken together, he has impressed me.  He may be naive to the ways of nobility and politics, generally speaking, but he has a fresh and unique way of looking at things.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Teagan chimed in.

“He will be a lamb stalked for slaughter if he is made king,” Alfstanna interjected with no little concern.  “Can we, in good conscience, allow that to happen?”

“I’m not so sure that he will.”  Fergus leaned forward and rested his arms on his legs as he spoke, hands clasping in front of him.  “I was with him, Bry, and Nate a little while ago.  We ended up discussing Anora and her part in what happened with Rendon Howe.”  He didn’t miss the quick look that passed between his friends.  “I will grant that Alistair is naive -- he was raised in the Chantry to be a Templar, there’s no doubt there that his political skills are lacking because of it -- but he did see through Anora easily enough.  He needs to learn how to express it in a more diplomatic way, is all.”

“Well, that’s something, at least,” Teagan said.  “To be honest, I’m a bit surprised my brother isn’t pushing the lad into an arranged marriage with Anora.  It would be the simplest way to gain her support, make him king, and keep her happy.”

“I believe that may just be what Eamon is trying to do,” Fergus admitted, “but Alistair is resisting.”

Alfstanna chuckled.  “Good for him!  I wish him luck, though.  Eamon is difficult to talk down from an idea once it takes hold.”

Fergus flashed her a quick smile.  “So is Bryallyn.”

That caught Teagan’s attention and he turned towards Fergus, brow lifted in question.  “Oh?  What has your sister to do with this?  Other than supporting Alistair’s claim to the throne?”

Fergus shrugged.  “I’m not quite sure I can explain it.  It was something she said to Alistair when he told us Eamon was pushing for the alliance with Anora.  Something referencing a past conversation they’d had.  Whatever it was, I’d swear that I saw relief in his eyes afterwards.”

“A match with Anora would be politically sound,” Alfstanna pointed out.  “She knows how to govern.  We’ve all seen that.”

Teagan shook his head.  “He would be a king in name only, I think.  Anora has gotten too used to having a biddable husband who will allow her to rule.  Alistair would be relegated to the background, having the title of king but none of the power that goes with it.  Alistair wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“He said, and I quote, ‘A darkspawn would be more preferable,’” Fergus told them.

Surprisingly, there was no laughter.  “So, that leaves him single and likely in direct opposition to Anora when the Landsmeet session begins.”  Alfstanna rose and began pacing around the parlor as she considered.  “I can vouch he will have Waking Sea behind him, and Arl Wulff from West Hill.”

Fergus nodded.  “Sighard of Dragon’s Peak will support him now that Oswyn is free and his story told.  What about Bryland?”  He glanced over at Teagan.  The two were good friends.

“I spoke to him yesterday and he suggested he would be willing to support Maric’s heir’s claim as long as certain others were inclined to.”  ‘Certain others’ included both himself and Alfstanna.

“And, of course, we have the Teyrn of Highever.”

The vocalization of his title startled Fergus for a moment.  It was one thing to refer to himself that way, something else entirely to have others do it.  “As long as no one else supporting Rendon voices any objection, I suppose so,” he agreed.

“The only threat to that will be Loghain,” Alfstanna promised, “and the impression I got was he didn’t know of Rendon’s actions until after the fact.  I’m not sure if he had any concern for his own position or not, but I am pretty certain that if he felt Rendon might take things farther he would have had him removed.”

“So that leaves us with Highever, Waking Sea, Rainesfere, West Hill, Dragon’s Peak and potentially South Reach.”  Teagan ticked off each name on his fingers as he listed them.  “And no doubt many of the minor bannorns in these same areas.”

“I’ve been speaking with Bann Reginalda of White River, too,” Alfstanna added.  “Though I can’t confirm her support, I think it safe to say she is leaning heavily to our side.”

“So then our obstacle remains Loghain and Anora,” Fergus mused.  Sighing, he leaned back in his seat.  

“Likely Ceorlic, too,” Teagan said.  “He usually goes whichever way Gwaren goes.”

Fergus rolled his eyes.  “That’s always been the case.”  How many times had he listened to his father go on about Bann Ceorlic and the way he always sided with Loghain?  “After what Nathaniel and I experienced out in the Bannorn, I think he’ll have Bann Loren, too.”

“I don’t suppose Nate would be willing to accept the Arling of Amaranthine now that Rendon is gone?” Teagan asked.

Fergus snorted.  “Even if you could convince him, I think Rendon made arrangements for Thomas to follow after him.  Though, come to think of it, if rumors about Thomas are correct, he spends more days buried deep in his cups than anything.  Perhaps he could be convinced to side with us after all.”

“Especially now that his father no longer looms over his shoulder,” Alfstanna added.

“I will make it a point to approach him,” Teagan said.  “You are too close to the matter, Fergus, and he and I are acquainted at least.”

“I’m afraid that might be used against me at the Landsmeet,” Fergus acknowledged.  

“At least you don’t have Rendon’s blood on your hands,” Alfstanna told him.  “That would make things more difficult.”

Fergus scowled.  “It wasn’t for lack of wanting, I can assure you of that.  Nate had better position and Rendon failed to account for Bryallyn’s or his son’s skill.”

“Still, better your reputation is clean of that,” she repeated with sincerity.  

Teagan snorted.  “If rumors are true, I fail to see how it’s any more damning than what Loghain has going on in the Alienage.”  That comment resulted in two sets of eyes turning on him with slightly startled expressions.  “What, have you not heard?”

“All I’ve heard is the Blight sickness has struck the elves,” Alfstanna replied.  “That in itself is concern enough, I should think.”

Fergus shook his head.  “I’m afraid you’ve lost me as well,” he told them.

“Fair enough,” Teagan replied.  “From what rumors suggest, Blight sickness has reached the alienage.  How and when, I don’t know, but it must be bad since Loghain has basically locked the elves inside, caged them, so to speak.  Mages were brought in from Tevinter to help heal them.”

“And I’ve heard they’ve had mixed results,” Alfstanna added.  

Fergus frowned.  “Why Tevinter mages?” he asked.

Alfstanna shrugged, but Teagan replied, “I’ve heard a number of reasons for that choice ranging from the Ferelden Circle Mages are too busy recovering from the near destruction of their circle to the Tevinter mages having more practical experience in dealing with the Blight sickness.”  He shrugged too.  “The truth invariably lies somewhere in between, I suppose.”

Blight sickness.  Tevinter.  Healing mages.  The alienage elves.  Still frowning, Fergus stared into the fire, the words of a letter found at Gwaren coming back to mind and pieces of a puzzle fitting together to form a more complete picture.  “Or it lies somewhere else entirely,” he suggested.  He took a few moments to explain to him what he and Nathaniel found at Loghain’s estate in the south.  “At the time, I didn’t think much of it because we weren’t in Denerim and, as lame as it sounds after everything that’s happened, because I just couldn’t fathom why Loghain would be allying himself with the Tevinter mages.  This …  This suggests something much more sinister.”

“But why?” Alfstanna asked.  “Why remove the elves if they are sick?”

“That is exactly what Kayt asked,” he told her.  “And I still have no solid answer to the question, but given the rumors you heard, I think it obvious this is no simple mercy mission like they would have people believe.”

“People?”  Teagan snorted this time.  “As I said, they are rumors.  Loghain and the palace have issued no official word on anything happening at all.  The city guards simply stand at the gates and do their jobs, refusing to let anyone out into the city proper.”

Alfstanna chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip.  “I think we need to send someone in to investigate,” she said.  “We need more information if we are going to use it as evidence of wrongdoing on Loghain’s part.  We don’t even know what is happening.”

“I’ll talk to Bryallyn, Alistair and Riordan,” Fergus told her.  “If anyone might know about the Blight sickness, it would be the Wardens.”

Teagan rose to his feet and started towards the door, nodding.  “While you do that, I will see about speaking with Thomas Howe.”

Fergus turned to leave as well, but paused mid-turn.  “Alfstanna, before I leave, I need to share something with you.”  He removed the ring Irminric gave him and handed it over, explaining the circumstances of how he’d come about it.

Alfstanna took the ring and dropped back into her earlier seat.  “At the Arl of Denerim’s estate,  you say?” she breathed.  Her eyes closed for a long minute before she looked up at him.  “I’m going after him.  I need to see ….”

Fergus dropped to a knee beside her.  “I will go with you,” he promised.  “Just let me inform Bry and the others what’s happening and I will show you where to find him.”

Alfstanna nodded, blinking rapidly several times while he rose.  Fergus was at the doorway when he heard her call out to him again.  

“Fergus?”  He turned back.  “Thank you.”

Fergus nodded then left.  It was something he would have done for her regardless of his status as teyrn or his participation in the events that discovered her brother’s incarceration.  Alfstanna was a friend.  More than that, she was practically family.  He owed her this and more for her constant loyalty and support over the years, and more recently.

 

 


	99. Noble Intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the update delay. As always, Real Life took a jab at me, in both expected and unexpected ways.  
> As many of you know, come November over the past five years or so, I participate in Nano. I did that again last year (and yay, some progress on a story I’ve been trying to get started for five years!) as did my beta. I had a few chapters edited by that point, but once we got buried in the craziness that is Nano, all bets were off.  
> In addition to that, at about the same time as Nano started, my family and I got news that my mother had non-Hodgkins lymphoma. She had a tumor removed (successfully) from her brain, but there were others. She spent over a month in the hospital (from late October into December). I somehow managed to focus and get my Nano writing completed in three weeks, then spent the week of Thanksgiving with her and dad. Though she was starting chemo, and hated being in the hospital and all the delays in getting her to physical therapy (the damned thing mimicked a stroke, so it took forever to diagnose, and she still had the whole mobility issue on her left side), we talked about all sorts of things and she managed to con me into doing an afghan knitting thing she’d been working on. In the end, she gave me a bunch of gorgeous yarn to make my own (seriously, beautiful yarn!) and I am now knee deep in knitting a Sherlock Holmes inspired afghan. (third of a series of five, so guess who’ll be going back at some point to catch up on the previous two?!) Mom’s been doing alright, but she’s been back and forth to the hospital a few times for various things, mostly stemming from reactions to chemo meds. This past month, they changed her second chemo treatment because of that. This past Friday, my dad says she’s having what could be a reaction to the new drug or it could be another tumor. They’re doing an MRI tomorrow to check. So, needless to say, it’s been a rather stressful time for us. I’ve been writing, but mostly on things that are a LOOOOOOOOONG way from being published, if ever. (yes, it’s fanfiction)  
> I will apologize in advance if my posting rate stays rather on the lazy side of things in the near future. Writing is a release of stress for me most times, but the editing and posting is more of a process that, to be quite honest, I forget about with all the craziness around me. I do intend to finish this story, though, and I will try to keep things as caught up as I can in the meantime. Thank you all for your patience!

Tension surrounded them like a thick haze as Fergus led Alfstanna and several of her Waking Sea contingent through the streets back to the Arl of Denerim’s estate.  Fergus could understand it all too easily.  To find out someone you cared about was being held prisoner and likely tortured was enough to drive any sane person mad with worry.  It was one thing Fergus could actually find himself thankful for in the disaster that befell his own family: from what Bryallyn told him, neither Oriana nor Oren had suffered torture at Howe’s hands.  Their deaths had been merciful by comparison.  Thank the Maker for small favors.

They arrived at the Arl of Denerim’s estate to find a unit of the city guards standing watch.  They balked when Fergus first requested allowance inside, but when he identified himself and mentioned the purpose of their visit, the guard captain allowed them in.  “He won’t leave his cell,” the man explained to Fergus and Alfstanna.  “We’ve done our best to keep him fed and watered, but we aren’t on duty _all_ the time.”

“He’s a Templar,” Alfstanna explained.  “A Knight Lieutenant of the Denerim Chantry.  Did you not send to them for help?”

“Aye, we did, my lady, and they sent someone over, but it only served to agitate him and they left soon thereafter.”  He shrugged.  “I don’t know what else we can do for him.”

“Send for them again,” Alfstanna insisted firmly.  “They must be a part of this process.”

After the guard agreed to do so and dispatched a runner to the Chantry, Fergus led Alfstanna and the others through the nearly empty halls of the estate and down to the dungeons below.  He was half tempted to backtrack to Anora’s room or even the one that Rendon used, just in case something else was left behind that could serve some purpose, but he decided against it in the end.  Their primary purpose for being here was for Irminric.  Anything after that was secondary.

They neared the cell block where Fergus recalled Irminric was located and he pulled Alfstanna aside before entering so they could wait for the Templars to arrive.  He also needed a few minutes to warn her.  “It’s best you prepare yourself, Stanna,” he said using the childhood nickname for her.  “I could only get a vague sense of the amount of time he’s spent here, but it’s been long enough.  He is too thin by far, and he may need several baths to clean off the layers of filth.”  He didn’t need to explain the stench; that was obvious the moment they entered the dungeons.

Alfstanna lifted her eyes to meet his and managed a small smile.  “You always did look out for me,” she murmured.

Startled by her observation, he replied, “Well, of course I did.  You were always like a sister to me.”  Alfstanna winced -- a tiny movement, just the merest crinkling at the corner of her eyes, but Fergus noticed.  “Did I miss something?” he asked.

Alfstanna’s smile remained, though it pulled tightly.  “You did, but that’s okay.”

He frowned.  “Alright, now I’m very confused.”

Sighing, Alfstanna shook her head.  “It was years ago, Fergus, and in the end you were happy.  That’s all that really mattered to me.”

“ _I_ was happy?”  The words took a minute to sink in fully, but when they did, Fergus thought he finally understood.  And his heart sank to the depths of his stomach.  “Stanna ….”

“Don’t,” she pleaded, reaching a hand out to touch his arm and squeeze.  “You had your own path to take and I had mine.  It’s as simple as that.”

Fergus sighed, hand rising to run through his hair.  “I never knew,” he told her.  “Maybe if --”

“No.”  This time her voice was adamant.  “No ‘maybes’ or ‘what ifs’.  You were happy, and that was the important thing.  I’ll admit to some level of hurt when I realized you would be marrying someone else, but once I saw you and Oriana together, well, even I could see you were meant to be.”

Sighing again, Fergus couldn’t help but wonder what might have been had he never made that trip to Antiva, despite Alfstanna’s insistence not to venture down that path.  “I always thought you and Teagan …?”

Her smile was warm enough even if it didn’t quite reach her eyes just then.  “You saw what you were supposed to see,” she replied simply.  “Teagan is a good friend, and when I took over the bannship of Waking Sea after my father passed, his guidance was invaluable.  However, we were never anything more than that.”

“Stanna --”

“Let it _go_ , Fergus.  Things are as they were meant to be.”

Their eyes met for a long moment and Fergus felt a subtle scrutiny as she looked at him.  It began as a plea for him to do as she advised and drop the subject, but after a moment, he noticed a shift.  While awkward, it wasn’t unnecessarily uncomfortable.  At least, not until her brow arched up in surprise and he recognized a sudden interest flash behind her eyes.  “You’ve met someone new, haven’t you?”

Fergus swallowed tightly and wondered just what it was she’d seen.  He hadn’t even mentioned anything about Kayt to his sister yet, and Alfstanna figured it out with a look?  She was incredibly perceptive, that much he knew, but still.  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” he grumbled, scowling.

Alfstanna chuckled.  “You are!  Who is it, Fergus?  Tell me!”

“Stanna.”  His tone was half growl and half warning.  “I’m still in mourning for Oriana and Oren, for Maker’s sake!”

“Fergus, you loved them dearly, and I understand that.  Perhaps better than you will ever credit me.  But their loss doesn’t mean you have to lock yourself away for the rest of your life!  If you have a second chance at happiness, even after all that’s happened, embrace it!  For people like us, finding love once in a lifetime is a miracle.  To find it twice …?”

“You are reading far too much into this,” he insisted.  

“Am I?” she countered.  “The fact you feel the need to convince me otherwise suggests that I am on the right path.”

Booted footsteps and the clamor of Templar plate armor and weapons rang out in the hallway behind them and never before had Fergus been so grateful for an interruption.  It was one thing for him to consider such thoughts in the privacy of his own mind, but for others to notice and comment?  Granted, Nate and the others of their traveling group perhaps had a clearer insight due to their witnessing of his interactions with Kayt, but Alfstanna?  Maker’s breath, he wasn’t _that_ obvious, was he?

His current thoughts were distracted when it was decided he and Alfstanna would initiate contact with Irminric because of their relationship with him.  Fergus lost track of the time as he and Alfstanna approached and spoke at length with the man.  The signs of lyrium withdrawal were obvious in his current behavior, but it was a safe guess that hours passed before Irminric finally agreed to leave the cell block in the company of his sister and fellow Templars.  Fergus bowed out of the party when they exited the estate grounds.  “Go with him for now,” he urged Alfstanna in a gentle tone.  “He needs you and the Landsmeet is still a few days before gathering.”

Alfstanna hugged him in relief.  “Thank you, Fergus.  If you hadn’t ….”

He smiled and leaned in to kiss her cheek with brotherly affection.  “No ‘what ifs,’ remember?” he teased.  “Now go on.  You know where to find me later.”

The Templars had brought a cart to transport Irminric back to their barracks at the Chantry, and Fergus assisted Alfstanna up and inside.  He watched them depart, pulling fully out of sight before he turned and started back to Eamon’s estate.  He took his time, wandering the main thoroughfares and thinking, but eventually his steps brought him back to the estate in the Market District.  As he passed the Chantry on his way, he heard one of the chanters outside as she recited part of the chant.  Pausing, he listened to the words and, for the first time in what seemed a very long time, he found solace.  The ache of loss for his wife and son would always be there, he could accept that.  But alongside it, he wondered if he couldn’t find love and happiness again, this time with Kayt beside him.  His parents would have approved -- if he knew anything, he knew that much -- and he suspected Oriana would have liked her as well.  That and she would never expect him to spend the rest of his days alone or in sadness.

_Though stung with a hundred arrows,_

_Though suffering from ailments both great and small,_

_His Heart was strong, and he moved on._

_The deep dark before dawn's first light seems eternal,_

_But know that the sun always rises._

_Though the lands suffer a thousand wrongs,_

_The Maker yet notices the smallest of deeds._

The words still fresh in his mind, Fergus continued across the marketplace and into Eamon’s estate.  He found Bryallyn in the Library with Alistair discussing their plans to visit the alienage the next day.  “When you have a free minute, can we talk?” he asked his sister.

Bry glanced first over at Alistair who replied, “I think it’s a workable plan,” then nodded at Fergus, excused himself and left the room.  Once they were alone, Bryallyn turned her attention onto her brother and Fergus noted the look of concern there.  “Everything alright?” she asked.

Fergus couldn’t help but smile.  His little sister had grown so much over the past year or so.  “I think so,” he told her.  “I just thought perhaps we ought to talk.  It occurs to me that we’ve hardly had a chance to catch up with one another since arriving in Denerim, and I’ve a number of things I need to tell you.”

Bryallyn chuckled softly as she joined him and they walked down the hall in the direction of their private chambers.  “This is true,” she agreed.  And then, with a wink and a cheeky grin, she added, “One might think we were trying to save the world or something.”

“It certainly has made for some busy moments,” he acknowledged while returning the smile.

He led her to his sitting room and once they were both seated, she asked, “So, what did you want to discuss?”

Fergus’ smile widened.  “Before I get into that, do you recall the story Mother and Father used to tell us about the Orlesian occupation?”

Bryallyn chuckled.  “Which one?” she asked.  “There were so many!”

Fergus blinked, a little startled by her reaction, but she wasn’t incorrect by any means.  “The one about Marianne,” he clarified, “and how _Le Renard_ helped them defeat _Le Loup Garou_.”

“I remember.”  Bryallyn curled her legs beneath her and leaned her arm on the edge of the chair while eyeing him carefully.  “What of it?”

Leaning forward, his arms resting atop his legs and hands folded together before him, he told her, “Well, what if I was to tell you that _Le Renard_ ’s story didn’t end there ...?”

 


	100. Taking Back the Streets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you to the people who reached out – for your thoughts and comments.  I appreciate it – MOM appreciates it.  However, life is nothing if not challenging.  Almost immediately after posting last week’s update, I got word from Dad that mom was suffering from some of the same symptoms as back at the beginning of her diagnosis. Turns out, she had another tumor growing in the same place as the one they removed. *sighs* It’s been a week of frustration, fright and chaos, to say the least.  They immediately put her back on her original chemo med at a reduced rate. However, it appears that while her body can process it faster when removing it from her system, her kidneys are still having trouble with it. I guess today they’re supposed to talk to her nephrologist to see what the next step is.
> 
> That said, I will keep posting these chapters as long as I can.  I still have a few that are in the beta’s hands.  The last seven or eight still need to be written.  I was thinking of taking the first Camp Nano in April to focus solely on finishing this project (last July helped me get 20+ written!), but that may have to wait and see depending on Mom. Also, kiddo’s a senior in high school and God knows what all I’ll have to face as we near the end of this race! (he’s excited, I’m excited, but we both are a little bit terrified because applying to and being accepted at college these days is a much scarier thing than when I did it almost 30 years ago!!!)
> 
> In the meantime, enjoy the ones I have complete and will keep posting as I can!

 

 

It wasn’t often Bryallyn felt all-consuming rage to the point of wishing to do violence, but after the discovery of what was happening to the alienage elves, of finding the _absolute proof_ of Loghain’s complicity in the matter even after the warnings from her husband and brother taken from the information they found in Gwaren, Bryallyn could say without a doubt that Loghain was a dead man walking.  It would only be a matter of when and how, but the end result would be the same: Justice would have its day.  Justice for Duncan and the Grey Wardens at Ostagar and all the other soldiers who fought so bravely against the darkspawn only to have their hopes torn from them with Loghain’s retreat.  Justice for King Cailan, naive and innocent perhaps in how he viewed many things, but also undeserving of his fate.  Justice for the people of Ferelden who had been living through month after month of civil war, oppressions and starvation, as well as fear of the spreading Blight because the regent considered the Orlesians to be more of an enemy than the darkspawn.  And justice for Denerim’s alienage elves who had been sold into slavery to Tevinter, for reasons known only to Loghain.

“I wish there was some way we could get Shianni to speak on our behalf at the Landsmeet,” Alistair announced as they walked back to the Arl of Redcliffe’s estate through the Market District.  “She could probably bring the entire group to their knees with a few well chosen words!”

Leliana chuckled.  “Her methods are crude,” she noted, “but what she lacks in skill she more than makes up for with determination!”

“That girl has lived through much in her short lifetime,” Wynne commented.  “She might be able to provide some valuable insights into this city and what happens here.  For someone willing to listen, that is.”

“Hmm.  Now there’s a thought.”

Bryallyn’s eyes roamed over to her fellow Warden.  Though their stay in the city had been relatively short so far, the changes that had been wrought in him were more than noticeable and were very encouraging.  “Why don’t we get washed up and reconvene in the Library?  Then we can decide on our strategy for tomorrow.”

Bryallyn found her room empty when she arrived which gave her the opportunity to clean up and pull her thoughts together. On her way back to the Library, she made a quick detour via the nursery where she found little Bryce asleep, and Chelle, his new nurse provided for by Alfstanna with the assurances that she could protect him more than adequately enough for as long as was necessary, sitting nearby reading.  The woman glanced up, meeting Bryallyn’s gaze, and smiled.  “He sleeps easily and well,” Chelle announced in a soft voice so as not to wake the infant.

Bryallyn returned the smile, stepping over to peek in where her son lay, arms flung up over his head.  She chuckled softly, recognizing the signs of deep and blissful sleep he often presented.  Reaching in, she tucked his blanket just a bit closer to his body, then turned away.  “Thank you,” she murmured to Chelle as she passed by.  “Knowing you are with him eases my mind greatly.”

“My lady,” she replied readily, “that is all I could hope for.”

Returning to the hall, Bryallyn headed towards the Library.  When she arrived, she found herself to be the first save for one other.  

“Ah, Warden,” Riordan greeted her with a smile of welcome.  “I had hoped you would arrive first.”

Stepping into the room, Bryallyn joined him on the far side of the room.  “Riordan,” she returned with a nod.  “I was hoping we might have a chance to speak further.”

“Of course,” he agreed.  “Was there something specific you wished to ask?”

“You mentioned you knew Duncan.  Did you know him well?”

There was a touch of sorrow to the smile he gave her.  “Duncan and I went through our Joining together, but we knew one another long before,” he explained.  “More years ago than I like to remember.  He was exactly the same back then -- tough as stone and just as grizzled.  I think he understood, sooner than the rest of us, how ugly a choice it is to let the few be sacrificed to protect the many.  Always left himself a soft spot for his recruits, though.  Only way he ever let himself down.”

Bryallyn tilted her head slightly as she considered this.  Behind her, she heard booted steps and was not surprised when Alistair joined her a moment later.  “If sending us to the Tower of Ishal was Duncan’s way of showing a ‘soft spot’ for us,” she mused while glancing up at her friend, “I can’t say that I’m sorry he did so.  If he had kept us with the rest of the Wardens, the Blight might well be running unchecked across Thedas right now.”

“Especially given Loghain’s reaction to it,” Alistair added, the acrimony in his tone practically dripping off the words.

“Indeed, you may be correct,” Riordan replied.  “You and Alistair have done a remarkable job during these past months, uniting our Allies against the threat.”

“Duncan once told us that only Grey Wardens could stop the Blight,” Alistair continued.  “Can you explain more about that?  He didn’t exactly tell us how.”

Riordan sighed.  “That is more complicated than it sounds,” he replied wearily, “and will likely take a while to explain.”  He nodded beyond them as Zevran and Leliana walked in with Fergus and Nathaniel.  “Ask me again later, when we as Wardens can talk undisturbed and I will tell you then.”

Bryallyn nodded her agreement, understanding the need for privacy with such things after what was explained during her Joining.  “I just wish he’d had more time to … I don’t know, give us more of a framework for what to expect as a Warden.”  She looked between Riordan and Alistair.  “You both understand better than I what is necessary.  I never had the opportunity.”

“I was still learning,” Alistair reminded her.  “I doubt much of what I know would be helpful, if I haven’t already told you about it.”

“Perhaps you should explore the Grey Warden vault here in Denerim,” Riordan suggested.  “It’s located just off the Market District, in the northern alley behind the _Gnawed Noble_.  I’ll sketch out the code which will let you past the lock wheel.”

“A vault?” Bryallyn gasped.

“I don’t think Duncan ever mentioned that to me the few times we came to Denerim,” Alistair added.

“Not surprising since you were a raw recruit then,” Riordan said with a warm smile.  “Inside the vault you can take your pick of whatever equipment remains.  It is the stockpile that the Wardens kept for centuries, even during their exile from your country, for the defense of the city.  You may find a few other things as well, including Duncan’s journal.  I know he left it there when he departed for Ostagar.”

Another set of booted steps, softer than Alistair’s, alerted Bryallyn to someone’s arrival and she turned to find Nathaniel stepping up beside her.  “We are ready when you are,” he told her.

Bryallyn nodded.  Facing Riordan again, she asked, “Will you be around later so we can finish our talk?”

He shook his head.  “Sadly, no.  I have received word that the darkspawn are massing in the south near Redcliffe, and I must travel there to scout out whether it is yet another raiding party or if the archdemon is among them.  Our time is running short, I’m afraid.”

“Perhaps we should go with you, then?” Alistair suggested.

But Riordan shook his head.  “Your destiny lies here, my friend,” he told him.  “If indeed the archdemon is there, I will send word, but until then you must follow your original plan.”

The intensity behind his words was not lost on Bryallyn, though she could not quite tell what he was implying by their focusing on the politics of Ferelden.  Alistair was a Grey Warden and one willing to sacrifice himself to defeat the Blight if necessary, she knew that much, and she suspected Riordan did too.  But would it need to come to that?  They needed time to talk, but time was one thing they were not going to have, it seemed.  “As you wish, then,” she agreed.  “Arl Eamon has messenger birds at his estate should you need to send us word to head your way.”

Riordan nodded once, then bowed to Alistair first and her second with his arms crossed over his chest before turning to leave.  

“Well, that was less helpful than I’d hoped,” she murmured.

“Maybe we can find something at the Warden’s vault,” Alistair reminded her.  

Nodding absently, she followed him over to where the others were gathered.  “I hope so.”

 

~ n ~

 

The strategy session took longer than Bryallyn hoped, but as it was necessary, she didn’t mind in the long run.  They ended up moving their discussion to the dining hall when it was time for the evening meal which brought in the rest of the group, including Teagan and Eamon, who gave their input as well.

“I think I should enter with Bryallyn and the others,” Alistair chimed in after Eamon suggested he stand up in the Arl of Redcliffe’s section with him.

“That will give the impression that the Grey Wardens are trying their hands at politics,” Eamon advised.  “Seeing as they aren’t supposed to be doing that --”

“But that’s just the point, isn’t it?” Alistair challenged, his eyes darting briefly over to Bryallyn’s.  “We _are_ doing that because no one else is looking out for the safety of Ferelden or Thedas when it comes to the Blight.  If we go in, united, and focus on the issue of the Blight being ignored, that will bolster our cause.”

“He has a point,” Teagan offered.  “And perhaps that is the way to approach this as a whole.  All along, the Wardens have been attempting to fight the Blight, but Loghain has openly attempted to thwart them at every turn.  Pulling the reinforcements from Ostagar and allowing Cailin to die.  Poisoning you,” he looked over at his brother, “and nurturing Isolde’s fears for Connor until she had nowhere else to turn but the mage he sent their way.  Fomenting rebellion on the doorsteps to Orzammar, for Maker’s sake!  I think if we focus on the other issues that had less to do with him directly, we may be able to win over more support.  Save it as a last resort of sorts.”

“I also think,” Fergus interjected with a nod of agreement over at Teagan, “that Teagan and I should lead the political discussions.”

Eamon frowned in consternation.  “Some of the nobles will argue you are not the rightful Teyrn of Highever.”

Fergus’ face darkened and his eyes quickly sought his sister’s noting that hers were shining just as fiercely.  “I don’t believe it will be an issue,” he replied coldly.  “With Rendon’s fate known and the reaction of the people around the city, I suspect most will not argue the matter.”

“I agree,” Bryallyn added almost immediately.  “If they do, they risk showing their allegiance to the real traitor.”  Her eyes drifted over to Eamon’s as she added, “And a dead one at that.”

“Are you suggesting --”

“She suggests nothing but the truth of it, brother,” Teagan broke in.  “I believe the risk to be worth it.  From what I hear, Loghain was not aware of Howe’s plans until after the fact.  To side with Rendon now would be to openly support his actions, and I think it obvious that to do so would run the risk of punishment afterwards.”

Fergus scowled, recalling the scrap of letter he and Nathaniel had come upon at the castle in Gwaren, but he remained silent.  It was true enough that Rendon had not spelled out his intentions in so many words, though the suggestion had been clear.  Still, even had Loghain known fully ahead of time what the Arl of Amaranthine intended, he likely would not have had time to take action to stop him, even if he’d wanted.

Eamon took a deep breath, but sighed and nodded his assent.  He knew the others were well aware that he was the driving force behind the push for Alistair to take the throne, and he understood there were several nobles outside of their group who were concerned he was aiming to make the lad a puppet king and himself the hand that ruled from behind the scenes.  “Perhaps you are right,” he acknowledged after a moment.  “I was going to ask Alfstanna to take the lead, but perhaps Fergus would be the better choice.”

“So, if Fergus and Teagan take the lead from the political side of things,” Alistair mused, “and Bryallyn and I enter together, representing the Wardens ….”

“Then we begin our presentation of evidence by focusing on the Blight,” Bryallyn picked up the thread of conversation.  

“Whatever we do,” Fergus added, “we do not under any circumstances blame Loghain directly.  At least, not until we have the support of as many of the nobles as we can.  We can focus on the Blight and on Howe and the people he kept prisoner.”

“Don’t forget the alienage elves,” Nathaniel pointed out.  “I realize that plan was Loghain’s and had his hands all over it, but we can’t forsake them after what we found.”

Teagan nodded.  “I’m hoping by that point that bringing Loghain’s actions into it won’t result in any political backlash,” he admitted, “though I would suggest we consider his role in having Eamon poisoned before we mention the elves.  That in itself is a touchier subject and one that will require a delicate handling.”

Eamon nodded.  “Indeed, it will,” he agreed.  

“I will not go back on my promise to Shianni,” Alistair announced, a hint of anger in his tone at the thought.  “The elves have been --”

Fergus, sitting across from the future king, lifted his hand to wave off the thought.  “We aren’t suggesting you do that at all,” he assured him.  “I think what they are saying is we use that as a final argument, if necessary.  I understand you want to help the elves, Alistair, and I can advise you on suggestions for improvements as we implemented them in Highever over the years if you like, but as Teagan said, it _is_ a touchy subject, and it will require discussion with the other nobles before any sort of open change can come about.”

Alistair’s scowl remained, but he nodded his agreement after a moment.  “Alright, I think I see your point.”

“So, we are set then?” Bryallyn asked as she looked around the table, ending up back on her fellow Warden.  “Are we ready to do this?”

Alistair sighed.  “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” he allowed.  

Beyond him, Bryallyn saw Teagan smile and hide a chuckle behind a cough at Alistair’s reticence, but she knew Teagan would back Alistair one hundred percent.  Her brother, too.  Taking her wine glass in hand, she raised it in a toast.  “Here is to our success and the future King of Ferelden.”

 

~ n ~

 

“You know,” Alistair grumbled as he led Bryallyn away from the estate a short while later, “you didn’t have to do all that.”

Bryallyn smirked as she looked up at him.  “Do all what?” she countered.  “I toasted our success, that’s all.  And besides, you’d best get used to it.”

He sighed, nodding as they walked through the Market District.  “I know you’re right, but it still takes some getting used to.”

The smirk melted into a genuine smile as they turned down the alleyway leading behind the _Gnawed Noble_.  “You have made huge progress in a very short amount of time, Alistair,” she pointed out.  “And you have good people to help you.  Don’t be afraid to call on Fergus or Teagan, or even Alfstanna if you need help.”

“I notice you didn’t mention Eamon,” he observed quietly.  “Any reason for that?”

Her lips pursed.  “You know my thoughts on that matter.  And you also know Nathaniel and I are at your beck and call as well.”  She paused for a moment then added, “As is as Delilah Howe.”  

Alistair lifted a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing there as he felt heat fill his cheeks.  “Ah.  Was I that obvious?”

Chuckling, Bryallyn reached out to pat his arm.  “Only if you know what to look for,” she teased.  

They arrived at the building Riordan indicated contained the Grey Warden vault and stepped inside.  “According to Riordan, access is through a door behind a bookcase over there,” Bryallyn told Alistair while looking down at the piece of parchment Riordan had left with them.  

Alistair crossed over and stopped in front of a bookcase.  Glancing around, he moved to the side and gave it a hard shove.  Surprisingly, it moved silently and freely to their left.  “Well, that was a bit of a letdown.  I expected it to be stiff and rusty after all this time.”

“Perhaps Riordan got it working?” Bryallyn offered as she joined him.  Stepping closer, she found the lock mechanism.  “Hold this for me, please?”  She handed the parchment to Alistair who held it while she turned the lock mechanism according to Riordan’s diagram.  It took a few minutes, but finally they both heard a soft click and the door opened before them.  Her eyes met Alistair’s.  “Shall we continue?”

He nodded.  “We’ve come this far.”

The room wasn’t huge by any stretch of the imagination, and most of the items they found inside were standard issue, but they did come across a few items they chose to take with them.  Bryallyn’s first destination was a writing desk she spotted in the far corner, and after searching through cubbyholes and desk drawers, she found a map of the Anderfels and what appeared to be a journal.  A quick look through the book indicated it belonged to Duncan, the dates inside coinciding with his takeover of the Ferelden Wardens.  Both of these she tucked that into her pack for examination in better lighting back at the estate before turning to the armor stand nearby where she found a large shield.  The Commander’s shield.  “Alistair, come look at this.”

Alistair, who was holding an axe, a mace and had donned a helm with what looked like griffon wings on the sides, made his way over.  “What is it?  I think I’ve found ….”  The axe and mace thumped to the floor near their feet.  “Oh.”

“I think it’s Duncan’s,” Bryallyn told him, reaching for the two weapons so he wouldn’t inadvertently stumble over them.  “That’s the griffon of the Warden Commander.”

Alistair’s hand reached out, reverently tracing the shape of the metal shield with his fingertips.  “I never saw this before,” he murmured.

“If the dates in his journal are any indication, the last time he was here was right before he recruited you,” Bryallyn explained.  She paused and glanced up at him.  “I think you should take it.  It’s better than any we have in our inventory, and,” she added with a hint of emphasis in case he should balk, “I think Duncan would have wanted you to have it.”

Alistair visibly swallowed, but managed a small nod as he reached for the shield.  For a long moment, he simply held it in his hands and stared at the heraldic device.  “I think you might be right,” he replied at last.  Only then did he slip it onto his back.  

Lifting the two weapons he’d dropped, Bryallyn asked, “Is there anything else worth salvaging right now?”

“What?”  Startled, he looked around then back at her.  “Oh.  No, most of it’s pretty standard.  It might come in handy later, if any of our allies need weapons.”

“Good idea.”  She flashed him a quick smile.  “I think you’re getting the hang of this leadership thing,” she added with a wink.

Predictably, he flushed again as they departed the vault, securing the doors behind them.  “Well,” he reasoned, “at least we still have our pants.”

Bryallyn chuckled.  “That we do, my friend.”  

They were rounding the corner near the _Gnawed Noble_ when Bryallyn commented, “We’re bound to have a busy day tomorrow.  Why don’t you let me buy you a drink tonight?”

Grinning, Alistair held the door open for her and followed her inside.  “I like the way you think!”


	101. Knocking Heads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve spent much of this story working with ideas I either thought could have been or should have been.  This is one of those I thought ‘should have been’.  Even if we couldn’t have had them together for most of the story, I don’t understand why Fergus couldn’t have been in Denerim by the time of the Landsmeet.  So, this, then, is my idea of how those events SHOULD have played out. 
> 
> Thanks as always to my intrepid beta, Erynnar, for her time and support and betaing skills.  Any problems that remain are mine alone.
> 
>  

 

Nerves were, up until this point in his life at least, a very rare occurrence for Fergus.  From a young age, he’d known that one day he would be teyrn.  That it would be he, and not his father or even his mother, who stood up on the Landsmeet dais reserved for certain members of the nobility with Highever’s standard hanging behind him while he donned Cousland colors.  He would be the one leading the other nobles of Ferelden as best he knew how through Maker only knew what.  But it was difficult to accept that the day was _now_ when by rights it should still have been his father standing here leading the way and Fergus beside him, or at the very least sitting in the gallery watching on.  And the fact that he wasn’t even allowed the support of his wife only compounded the issue in his mind.

A nudge of his arm brought his attention back to the present as his eyes met the woman standing beside him.  “Are you ready, Your Grace?” she asked.

Fergus sighed but nodded.  “As ready as I will ever be, My Lady,” he replied.  After a moment, he added more quietly and for her ears alone, “I’m fine, ‘Stanna.  I know what I must do.  I just wish it didn’t have to be me.  Not yet, anyway.”

Alfstanna offered him a sympathetic smile.  “I know.  But as your parents always said, ‘We do what must be done.’”

The familiar words coming from her lips brought a semblance of a smile and eased the jitters plaguing his belly.  “That we do,” he agreed.  Straightening and rolling his shoulders back, he gave her a decisive nod.  “Let’s go and be done with this.  The country has suffered enough.”

Fergus was well aware rumors of his survival at Ostagar had been spreading across the city in recent days.  Still, upon advice of several of the others, he’d kept actual sightings to a minimum, mostly out of concerns for his personal safety.  Now that the snake’s head was severed, so to speak, and the support of the people, including many of the banns and arls, was more open and secure, Fergus hoped that an ‘official’ sighting at the Landsmeet would cause just enough of a buzz to help swing the tide in their favor.  Maker knew they would need all they could get just now.

_Well_ , he thought to himself as he followed Teagan and Alfstanna into the Landsmeet chamber, _it’s definitely causing a buzz._  If sound could roll and ripple like the waves of the Waking Sea that was what was happening as he strode in through the doors.  

The room was arranged like it usually was for these meetings -- a raised dais on either side where the teyrns, arls, and certain of the banns positioned themselves throughout the sessions.  The others, mostly banns of lesser holdings, remained at floor level.  At the far end of the room and perpendicular to the dais where Fergus now stood were the thrones for the king and queen.  Near to them, though at a slightly lower level, was the space reserved for Grand Cleric Elemena.  Fergus noticed she was present today and he nodded a polite greeting in her direction.  The thrones above remained empty, which left Fergus wondering where Anora might be at present.  The queen had opted to remain at Eamon’s estate after her rescue from Howe, though it was easy enough to forget her presence when she preferred to spend most of her time in her rooms as well as take her meals there.  Fergus had no doubts Anora knew _exactly_ what was planned.  While she hadn’t been included in their meetings on the matter, neither had they actively worked to keep news of their intentions from spreading throughout the estate.  

A rustle of sound began in the far corner of the room opposite of Fergus and near where the royals usually entered the chamber.  A moment later, Fergus caught sight of Loghain as he strode in accompanied by several others, including his daughter.  Loghain was dressed in his battle armor leaving Fergus to wonder if it was more a reminder to everyone present of his past achievements and status as the Hero of River Dane, or if he actually expected a battle to take place in order to keep his, and by extension Anora’s, place of leadership.  It was a sobering thought, either way.

Loghain surveyed the room before him and Fergus met the man’s cool gaze without hesitation.  He was left with the impression that the past year or so had been most unkind to his fellow teyrn.  The lines on Loghain’s face cut deeper than ever before, and the grey in his hair was more widespread.  Even his shoulders appeared to sag beneath the weight of his heavy plate armor.  But though he gave the impression of a battle weary general, Fergus did note the hint of fire behind his eyes.  Woe be to any who underestimated the man, and Fergus certainly did not intend to do so.

Loghain was the first to bellow his displeasure at this particular gathering; a reaction that was not unexpected by any within the room.  Fergus had agreed just that morning with Eamon to allow the arl the opportunity to defend his reasoning for his call, and that he now did.  While Eamon and Loghain spoke back and forth, Fergus’ eyes drifted to the main doors where the rest of the nobility had filed in.   _Where are Alistair and Bryallyn?_

 

~ n ~

 

“Warden.  I can’t say I’m surprised at this.”

Bryallyn came to a halt immediately, Alistair beside her as Loghain’s lieutenant and her troops moved to block their path into the Landsmeet.  Cauthrien’s eyes traveled over to Alistair next, judgement shining sharply in her gaze.  “And Alistair, if you were even remotely worthy of being called Maric’s son, you would already _be_ in the Landsmeet, now wouldn’t you?  You have torn Ferelden apart to oppose the very man who ensured you were born into freedom.  But do not think you will get past me to desecrate the Landsmeet itself.  The nobles of Ferelden will confirm my lord as regent, and we can finally put this to rest.  Once you are gone.”

Stepping forward, Bryallyn waved off the obvious signs of Alistair’s irritation at the woman’s accusations and instead asked, “Can you really not see what Loghain has become?”  Cauthrien was rude and clearly in the wrong, but the only way they would be getting past her and the others without bloodshed would be with logic and reasoning.  They had to make her _see_ the truth and accept it.

If Bryallyn had blinked just then, she might have missed the moment that Cauthrien’s expression crumpled at her question.  “I have had … so many doubts of late,” she admitted hesitantly.  “Loghain is a great man, but his hatred of Orlais has driven him to madness.  He has done terrible things.  I know it, but I owe him everything.  I cannot betray him.  Do not ask me to!”

Bryallyn shook her head.  “All I ask is that you let me stop him.  There are greater threats out there, but he makes himself the greatest threat of all by not facing them,” she reasoned, unwilling to push the woman further just then.  “Cauthrien, you _know_ this is the only way.”

There was a moment of silence before Cauthrien sighed.  Stepping to the side, she and her troops opened a pathway through the hall for Bryallyn and her group.  “Stop him, Warden,” Cauthrien begged as Bryallyn walked past.  “Stop him from betraying everything he once loved.”

Bryallyn remained silent as she continued, but inside she was shaking.  It wasn’t the adrenaline rush from the encounter, now fading, nor was it that she and Alistair were about to enter the Landsmeet and hopefully end the divisiveness that had been tearing the country apart for so many months.  It was, in fact, that one of those closest and most loyal to Loghain, one who had orders to do all in her power -- for what other order would Loghain give? -- to stop Bryallyn and Alistair from entering so that he could make his claim had backed down and faced the truth, openly admitting before her own soldiers that the man she admired and owed so much of her success in life to was indeed wrong.  Miracles _could_ happen, and Bryallyn hoped there would be another one or two yet this day.   _A giant wall can come crumbling down with the removal of but one brick,_ she recalled Nan teaching her so many years ago.  Cauthrien was such a brick.  

They neared the doors to the chamber and Bryallyn could hear raised voices on the other side of the thick oaken barricade.  “Come on,” she urged the others.  “We’re late.”

 

~ n ~

 

“The point of this session --”

Fergus sighed as yet again, Loghain raised his voice and interrupted Eamon’s attempts to begin the proceedings.  “Point?  There _is_ no point!   _That_ has been the contention all along!”  A handful of cheers and jeers erupted around the room in support of the regent.

Unwilling to allow Loghain the chance to dismiss the Landsmeet before it even got fully started, Fergus stepped forward to the railing and, leaning upon it, called out, “Just as you contend that a Blight is not upon us?  I have seen for myself the increasing numbers of the darkspawn armies.  The way they ravage across our country, poisoning everyone and everything that cross their path!”

Loghain’s head shot over to look at him and had Fergus been younger or less well trained, he might have quailed at the withering expression he found there.  But he _was_ older and had been trained by his parents his entire life.  And by Howe’s actions, he now held equal rank to that of Loghain, regent or not.  Fergus would and could stand up for his land, his home, his people.  

“This is no true Blight,” Loghain contended.  “There has been no sighting of an archdemon.  These encounters with the darkspawn are merely skirmishes --”

“It _is_ a Blight and it has sent thousands fleeing from their homes,” Bryallyn announced, her voice ringing throughout the chamber, sure in its authority.  The gathering of nobles, startled by the new voice, moved to the sides to allow her and the others entrance.  “If there is _any_ thing that becoming a Warden has taught me, it is how to recognize that.  Villages have been destroyed.  The land and the animals that live off it are tainted by Blight sickness.  What more evidence do you need to convince you?  The horde arriving upon the steps of Denerim itself with the archdemon leading the way?”

“It is true,” Alfstanna chimed in, stepping forward beside Fergus upon the dais.  “Waking Sea bannorn has aided many refugees who are fleeing northward and it is only getting worse over time.”

“As has White River,” Bann Reginalda offered by way of support.  “We are doing the best we can to help them, but their numbers are too great.”

“As have we all,” Teagan added.  “The Wardens have been leading this fight for over a year now.  If they say this is a Blight, who are we to say they are wrong?”  There was the rise and fall of voices as others added their support to the claims.

“The Wardens have known from the beginning that this is a true Blight,” Alistair announced.  “I understand no one wants to accept that -- who in their right mind would?  But nothing will change that fact until the archdemon is defeated.  Only then will it end.  And in order to do that, you will require the full aid of the Wardens.”

As Alistair spoke, he began pacing around the hall, periodically glancing at the various nobles.  There was a surety in him that Bryallyn had suspected was hidden deep inside but had yet to witness herself, and to see it now warmed her to her core.  Leadership came in all shapes, sizes and personalities, and despite his protests to the contrary, he appeared ready to take on its mantle.

“What is it you are wanting?” Loghain demanded.  “To call for more Wardens?”

“No,” Alistair returned immediately, “it’s too late for that now.  There isn’t enough time for them to arrive.  The three who remain in Ferelden will have to suffice.”

“Three?  If you are making a claim for the throne, boy, you need to learn to count!” Loghain sneered.  “I see only two of you.”

“We rescued a third Warden from the Arl of Denerim’s estate,” Bryallyn informed him, mentally preparing for the hornet’s nest that was sure to follow.  “Riordan has gone ahead to scout out rumors of the horde on the move northward.”

A number of gasps echoed throughout the room with her announcement, but Bryallyn kept her eyes upon Loghain for his reaction.  Behind his eyes, she could see him warring with himself, most likely over whether he should challenge her on the events at the estate and ultimately Rendon Howe’s death.  “Yes,” he finally said, “why don’t we discuss your actions at the arl’s estate, Warden.  From what I’ve been told, they were most un-Warden like.”

“Then those who told you were incorrect.”

In the moment before Loghain spun around on his heel to face the owner of this newest voice, Bryallyn noticed a small tic at the corner of his eye start to twitch.  Nothing major, but perhaps a sign of the first chink in his armor?

Nathaniel, resplendent with a weave of cloth like Bryallyn wore the day of their marriage to symbolize the uniting of the two families, entered the hall with Delilah behind him.  Striding purposefully, he neared the rest of the group but stopped short of standing beside his wife.  “My father was responsible for the deaths of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of innocents and all in the name of ambition and greed,” he announced.  “He murdered my family by marriage, destroyed their home, he even sent someone after me, his own blood.  Not once, but twice!  His methods were of one who cared naught but for his own position in life and what power he could have as a result of it, and it was a thirst for which he would never be satisfied.”

“He kidnapped my Oswyn,” Bann Sighard called out, stepping forward for the first time.  “We do not yet know just how well he will recover from the tortures he suffered at Howe’s hands.”

“And my brother, Irminric,” Alfstanna spoke up.  “He held him imprisoned and without his daily requirement of lyrium for Maker knows how long.”

Grand Cleric Elemena rose from her seat.  “Knight Lieutenant Irminric was on a mission of utmost importance at my request when Rendon Howe captured him.  He openly and willingly violated a number of laws within the purview of the Chantry by taking the Knight Lieutenant prisoner and not notifying the Templars or the Chantry itself of what he’d done.”

“With all due respect, Grand Cleric,” Loghain countered, “that does not justify his death!  Vigilante justice --”

“It was not vigilantism,” Nathaniel insisted.  “It was self-defense.  I was his prisoner at the time and he attacked without provocation or warning.”

Another wave of gasps and cries of disbelief rolled through the crowd.  Stepping forward, Nathaniel rolled up his sleeves so that the marks and bruises that still remained could be seen.

“Those injuries could have been self-inflicted!”

Bryallyn and Alistair both turned towards the owner of this voice, but it was Fergus who challenged.  “Your word hardly holds weight, Bann Loren, after you knowingly sent your wife and son to Highever to die in an attack you knew would happen!”

“How dare --!”

Nathaniel cut off the man’s sputterings before he could gain momentum.  “Your own hospitality bore similar results just a few months ago, my lord.  Or, do you not recall visiting myself and the teyrn as we were held prisoner in your dungeons alongside the soldiers of King Cailan’s honor guard?”

“The king’s honor guard?”

Bryallyn did not recognize the noblewoman who spoke, but she was quick to pick up the thread of discussion.  “Bann Loren captured King Cailan’s honor guard during the retreat from Ostagar and held them until the few who remained were able to break free.”

“My son was among the honor guard and did not return home after the battle,” the noblewoman said.  “I’d thought him lost at Ostagar to the hands of the darkspawn, but now you are telling me it was this man instead?”

“Most were lost while being held prisoner,” Fergus explained, “and the few who did not were set free at the time Nathaniel and I were.”

“Be that as it may,” Loghain protested, “it does not justify murdering the man in cold blood.”

“He drew his blades first!”  Bryallyn spun back to face him.  “We were fighting for our lives!”

“And you are hardly one to make such claims,” Teagan added, “when it was your call to send the escaped Circle mage Alfstanna’s brother was tracking to kill my brother!”

More gasps and shouts followed, and for a moment Bryallyn wondered if Loghain was going to burst given how purple his face turned.  “You can deny it all you like,” she told him, “but I have the document given to the elf you sent to Redcliffe to watch for news of anything out of the ordinary.  I spoke with the mage Jowan who verified that you were the one to send him there and for that exact purpose.”

“Impossible!” Loghain spat.

The smile that curled at Bryallyn’s lips was not one of warmth.  “I also have letters between yourself and the Tevinter mages you brought into Denerim in order to have the alienage elves removed from the city under the guise of Blight sickness,” she continued.  “Your actions have done nothing but divide our country and weaken it at a time when we need to be strong and united!”

Arl Wulff stepped forward.  “I lost one son at Ostagar when you refused to send in the reinforcements to aid in the battle against the darkspawn,” he said, a heavy sadness evident in his tone, “and I lost my other two when your armed thugs attempted to forcibly conscript the people of my lands into your new army to replace those who were lost!  The Warden has the right of it, Loghain.  You need to step down!”

“And leave my daughter unprotected from you wolves?” Loghain shouted back in defiance.  “Do not underestimate me, Gallagher!”

“Anora’s rule should have come to an end with the death of King Cailan,” Arl Bryland argued.  “The ruling line is through Maric, not you!  Or was that not what you and I fought for all those years ago, Loghain, when we chased the Orlesians from our lands?”

“Who was it, do you think, that ruled for Cailan?” Loghain sneered.  “Your king was more interested in playing to his whims rather than in ruling this country!  Anora is the one responsible for the stability and actual government of our land these past six years!”

“No one is arguing that she didn’t do well,” Teagan replied.  “But Cailan is dead and Maric’s line still continues.  It is _he_ who should rule, not your daughter.”

Loghain’s scowl turned directly and fully onto Alistair.  “You would have this whelp rule the country?  What does he know of royalty and governance?  He is as naive as Cailan was!  As Maric, even!”

“Stand down, Loghain,” Eamon pleaded.  “Alistair has the right by blood to be king.”

“With you to guide his every step, no doubt,” Loghain challenged angrily.  

“I may not have been raised as a noble,” Alistair said, finally speaking up, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not skilled enough to rule.”

“Boy, you wouldn’t last five minutes!”

Alistair stiffened, eyes hardening on the general.  “Longer,” he replied.  “Much, much longer.”

Without explanation or warning, Loghain reached for his sword and shield and lunged at Alistair in an all-out attack.  Bryallyn hurriedly moved out of range while pulling several other startled nobles along with her to safety.  Alistair, reacting as if he expected the move, managed to grab hold of his shield and throw it up before Loghain’s blade could connect with his body.  The battle that ensued took some time -- Alistair had youth on his side, but though skilled, he and Loghain were evenly matched.

A movement beyond the pair caught Bryallyn’s attention and though loathe to break her eyes away from the battle, she forced herself to do so.  And none too soon.  The queen, standing well back from the danger, was clearly instructing a couple of royal guards to intervene on her father’s behalf.  Without hesitation, Bryallyn pushed her way through the crowd, drawing her blades as she did so.  “Don’t do it, Anora,” she warned, “or both your lives will be forfeit!”  Standard policy on such things happening within the Landsmeet -- which was surprisingly more frequent than one might imagine -- was to allow the duel to continue until one party yielded or was killed which would then provide the final decision on the matter.  Even though Loghain attacked first and without warning, the fight would still be guided by those rules.  Intervention by anyone, queen or not, would result in forfeiture, to the point of one’s own life, depending on the cause of the dispute to begin with.  Thankfully, Nathaniel arrived on the other side to halt the two soldiers to whom Anora gave instruction.

“If you think I’m going to allow Maric’s bastard to kill my father, you are sorely mistaken!” Anora protested.

“Your father drew his blade first, Anora,” Bryallyn reminded her.  “He deserves whatever fate befalls him.”

The woman turned, staring down her nose at Bryallyn in her usual haughty manner.  “I could have you arrested again,” she threatened.  “And this time make certain you don’t escape!”  

A loud grunt of pain followed by the usual sounds of a body meeting its end at the point of a blade echoed throughout the room.  “You are no longer queen,” Nathaniel announced quietly, confirming to Bryallyn that Alistair had indeed survived the battle.  “It would appear that the guards are no longer yours to command.”

Bryallyn glanced back over her shoulder.  Her eyes found Alistair’s for a long moment in which he appeared almost in a trance, but then he snapped out of it, visibly shaking his head before crossing over to where she stood.  Bryallyn turned back to Anora before he reached her.  “I would yield the crown if I were you,” she murmured, “and pledge your oath of fealty to your king.”

Anora scowled darkly.  “I will do no such thing!”

There was a rustle and clamor of armor behind them and within moments several of Eamon’s soldiers joined the group, weapons at the ready.  Following behind, Eamon, Fergus, Teagan and several of the other nobles arrived.  “You have lost the throne, Anora,” Eamon reminded her as gently as he could.  “Pledge your oath unless you would rather waste away in prison.”

Stoic and silent, Anora turned her head away from them and refused to speak.  Eamon gestured to one of his men, and Ser Perth stepped forward.

“Keep her imprisoned for now,” Alistair told him.  “Depending what happens with the Blight, she may well rule again.”  He saw shock and surprise lighten her eyes.  “I warned your father not to underestimate me.  I will give you the same warning,” he told her before signaling the guards to lead her off.

Bryallyn, a smile curving at her lips, glanced up at him.  “Nicely done,” she murmured.

He flushed slightly pink, responding in a quiet tone, “I had the best teachers.”

Eamon turned back to the gathered banns and arls.  “Are there any others who will challenge that Maric’s son is unworthy to rule?”

Fergus’ gaze narrowed sharply on Bann Loren who stubbornly refused to look away until it became clear that the young teryn would not be intimidated or back down by his elders.  Teagan was standing beside Bann Ceorlic having a somewhat heated, if quiet, discussion with him.  It was known in noble circles that Ceorlic was a firm supporter of Gwaren in general, and Loghain in particular.  But after several more minutes and added input from Bann Reginalda and Arl Wulff, the man finally agreed.

Later, Alistair would admit that what happened next startled him, but in that moment he could do little but remain standing where he was as everyone in the room took to a knee and swore their oath of allegiance to him.  Eamon had hinted that this would be the outcome if they were successful in their claim, but the reality of it was a little overwhelming.  Still, as Bryallyn and several of the others had pointed out, it would mean that the country was united once again under a common cause and that, at least, was something.

 


	102. Plans Within Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, to my fabulous beta, Erynnar!

 

A prevailing sense of doom hung heavily in the air long before Kayt returned to Ferelden via Amaranthine.  When combined with the storms at sea and the general atmosphere among the citizenry of the city, it hinted at just how dire the situation in Ferelden had become during her absence.  

_I stayed away too long_ , she mused, her feet guiding her quickly out of the city and along the road to Denerim.  She met up with Shadowhawk along the way once well past the city walls.   _I should have remained to help … somehow._  

But her choice had been made long before she met Nathaniel and Fergus, and duty was one thing she would never forsake.  Now that it was complete she was back, and she intended to make up for her absence.  Assuming she could find Fergus and Nathaniel and their group again, that was.  The rumors upon landing in Amaranthine all spoke of a Landsmeet gathering in Denerim; a decision about the ruling parties of the country, it was said.  Rumor also had it that the Grey Wardens were somehow involved.  What better place to start looking?

The journey from Amaranthine to Denerim took three long but uneventful days.  Striding up to the city gates upon arrival, she mentally assessed her plans and decided that finding shelter would take priority followed by a hot meal and after that some much needed rest.  She might be used to traveling, but even she knew better than to run herself down to a point that would keep her from being at her best for whatever was to come.  

As she neared the gates, Kayt overheard the guards on duty discussing what sounded to be the results of the Landsmeet.  That she missed the entire thing wasn’t so important, but if her timing to meet with the Wardens was gone, she would have to develop an alternative plan of action.  

“Maric’s bastard is king then?” one of the guards up ahead.  He waved Kayt over before speaking directly to her.  “Sorry, miss.  They got us checking anyone entering the city.”

Kayt’s brow lifted in question, but she did not resist, instead pulling her cloak aside and raising her arms so he could examine the contents of her belt pouches.  “What exactly are you checking for?” she asked mildly.  

Before he could reply, one of the other guards who was finishing his inspection of a merchant’s cart nearby ushered the elderly man on and moved back beside his companion, replying, “Yeah, that’s ‘im.  An’ I hear ‘e’s gonna lead the defense of the city against them darkspawn if they show up.  Can you believe it?”

Kayt blinked at that announcement but said nothing aloud.   _King Maric has a bastard son who is now king?  What all have I missed?_

“Well, ‘e _is_ a Grey Warden,” a third pointed out.

Kayt opened the flap to her backpack so the guard could examine the contents inside next.   _Grey Warden?  Perhaps I’m not too late after all._  

“Well yeah, but ‘e’s king now.  Won’t do us much good if ‘e gets hisself killed fightin’ the darkspawn ….”

“Surprised the Teyrn an’ the Arl will let ‘im fight,” the first chimed in again.  His hands dropped away and he nodded at her.  “You can go on, miss.”

Kayt nodded her thanks and turned away, but her eyes narrowed into a frown as she did so.   _Teryn Loghain and Arl … Howe?  Surely not,_ she thought while moving into the city proper and turning to the north.   _They have bounties out on the Wardens’ heads, substantial ones at that.  But, if they aren’t the ones giving the new king their support, who is?_

She reached the Market District and spent the next short while making her way through the various shops and stalls to replenish her supplies.  At the same time, she checked with each tavern and inn she came upon for a place where she could stay for the night.  Luck was not on her side this day it seemed.  With the Landsmeet in session, all rooms were filled.  That was to be expected, she supposed, if somewhat discouraging.  Still, there was nothing to be done about it.  Given the circumstances, an adjustment to her plan was in order and she decided to focus on finding a meal instead.  Worse come to worse, she could leave the city and camp out in the surrounding countryside for the night; it wouldn’t be the first time she’d done that.  But for now, she strode across the market with firm purpose in her step.  Shelter might be difficult to find, but she knew of only one place to partake of her evening meal.

Openly entering the _Gnawed Noble_ was a high end risk given her recent associations, especially considering all of the nobles in attendance for the Landsmeet, but Kayt liked the people and the atmosphere there, and she would not let anything or anyone stand in her way.  Walking up to the bar, she found Cyril engaged with another patron, so she waited patiently while surveying the room.  It was full, the majority of patrons representing the upper classes from what she could see, but there were others who if she didn’t recognize by name or face, she did by ….

“Excuse me?”

Startled by the heavily Orlesian accented voice that broke into her thoughts, Kayt turned towards a woman slightly taller than herself with beautiful red hair and vibrant blue eyes.  “Yes?”

A soft laugh and a smile touched the woman’s lips.  “I thought it must be you!” she announced exuberantly, hands clapping together.  Turning in Cyril’s direction for a moment, she called over, “It _is_ her, Father!”

Kayt frowned.   _Father?_  The woman standing before her did not look like some ordinary barkeep’s daughter.  Glancing over at Cyril, though, Kayt could see nothing but delight and a faint flush of happiness in his cheeks, certainly a change in his usual withdrawn and dour manner she’d observed in the past.   _What is going on here?_ Kayt wondered silently.  “I’m sorry, have we met?”

The woman standing before her blushed prettily and then laughed again.  “Always, I am ahead of myself,” she returned lightly.  Heavier than Kayt’s, the accent brought back unexpected yet pleasant memories of her mother.  The woman then gestured towards one of the back tables and urged, “Please, will you sit with me?  We have much to discuss, and it would be more comfortable, I think?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Kayt saw Cyril nod encouragingly, and with nothing better to do she slowly followed the other woman.  “We don’t even know one another!” she protested lightly.  Setting her bow and pack aside against the wall, Kayt took a seat.  She was not surprised when Cyril brought her a glass of mead a short time later.  It had been her drink of choice during previous visits.  

“Ah, but that is where you are wrong, my friend,” the woman was saying as she took a seat across from Kayt.  “We do know each other, after a fashion, and in several ways.”

Kayt frowned, attempting to untangle the web those words wove.  “You have lost me, I’m afraid ….”

Another light laugh.  Leaning in towards the center of the table, she said softly, “My name is Leliana.  Which in itself means nothing to you, I am sure.”  Kayt managed a small nod.  “On the other hand,” Leliana lifted a hand towards the tattoo on Kayt’s cheek, “my mother, Amélie, once had a cousin named Marianne Desmarais who I have been informed by a certain teyrn and his sister had a daughter named Kaytaryn ….”

Time slowed around Kayt and she sat very still for a long moment as she digested the words.  Sitting up straight, she stared across at Leliana in shock.   _Amélie’s daughter?!_  Cyril returned and set a small plate of bread and cheese between them.  Glancing up, Kayt found him watching her closely, too.   _Leliana called him father … so she would be a …_ “Cousin?”  

Kayt saw the man’s smile widen and brighten.  “Yes,” he told her, “making me your uncle.  I am so sorry I didn’t realize before now, my dear,” he told her.  “Your mother was a close friend, you see, and she was betrothed to my brother Simon before his death.”  He sighed softly, head shaking back and forth with past sorrow.  “I should have seen it in our first meeting, but I think the tattoo distracted me.  Your hair, your height, your build -- in that, you look very much like your mother.  But your eyes.”  His smile widened, glistening with emotion.  “Your eyes are your father’s.”

The sudden shock of having a family connection other than her mother or Andaer after so many years left Kayt in a state of mental limbo for a moment.  Growing up she occasionally wondered about her father -- after all, Marianne had been with _some_ one in order to get pregnant -- but finding information over the years about her sire was very difficult to come by.  Had Marianne not been killed during the Occupation, Kayt might have asked her about it.  Even Marianne’s journal had little to say on the matter, save a short but fond reference to a man whom she cared a great deal for before her departure from the capital city, and Andaer had known nothing about Marianne’s life before their paths crossed.

Taking a deep breath, Kayt turned her eyes back to the woman -- _Leliana_ \-- and stared at her for a long minute until her earlier words sank in.   _A certain teyrn and his sister …._  “Fergus?” she breathed.  “You know of him?  Of his sister Bryallyn?”

Leliana’s laughter, light and bouncing, floated around them again as she nodded.  “Indeed I do!  I have been traveling with Bryallyn since her escape from Ostagar nearly a year ago,” she explained.  “When we arrived in Denerim, we met up with her husband and brother who also are here.”

It took half a breath for that news to settle.  “Can you take me to them?” Kayt asked.  “I met Nathaniel and Fergus in my travels, but we had to part ways for a time, and --”

Leliana chuckled and winked at Kayt as she rose to her feet.  “Of course!  And I know of you, cousin!  At least through the eyes of the teyrn and the way in which he speaks of you!”

Kayt reached for her gear and followed after Leliana, pausing only long enough to speak briefly to Cyril and promise to return.  A cousin, an uncle, and now, perhaps, a path to knowing her father and more of her mother.  

Their journey was short, and Kayt struggled to recover her composure as they entered the courtyard to the Arl of Redcliffe’s estate.  “How much do you know of how this all began?” Leliana asked.

Kayt paused at that, considering.  “I know what happened at Highever,” she admitted readily enough.  “Fergus told me what he knew of it, Nathaniel supplied more.  In my travels, I heard other stories of what Arl Howe did to their family.”  Kayt’s expression darkened.  She’d read the entries in her mother’s journal regarding the arl from years earlier, and Marianne’s impressions of the man had not been flattering in the least.  “I know Bryallyn is married to his eldest son, Nathaniel, and that she is an archer and ranger like myself.”

Leliana nodded.  They entered the keep and she led the way into the back.  “We will go to the private library, I think,” she said softly.  “There will be more privacy there for personal reunions.”

“And you have been with her all this time?” Kayt asked.

“With Bryallyn?  Yes.  It has been an interesting journey, I can tell you!”  They entered the room to find a tall, broad shouldered man sitting at a table on the far side where he was reading.  The candlelight in the room flickered, and Kayt found it difficult to determine the exact shade of color of his hair.  At times it appeared honey blond.  At others, it seemed more reddish.  Whatever the case, she felt she ought to know this man aside from his obvious warrior build.  “Alistair, have you seen Bryallyn or Fergus?  I have found someone they need to see!”

Alistair glanced upwards, his eyes meeting Kayt’s briefly on his way to Leliana’s.  “I think Bryallyn and Nathaniel were discussing their plans to travel with Eamon back to Redcliffe,” he announced.  “I’m not sure where Fergus is.  Last I saw him he said something about going to see Teagan, I think ...?”

“Did I hear my name mentioned?”

Kayt’s breath caught even before she turned around to face the owner of the familiar voice.  The weeks away suddenly felt ten times as long, and an ache settled in her chest at the thought.  

“Kayt?”

 

~ n ~

 

While not entirely unexpected to hear his name mentioned in Eamon’s house -- after all, he _was_ effectively the Teyrn of Highever now, and with Alistair as the presumptive king and his sister’s friend, it was only to be expected -- the real shock came when Fergus stepped inside Eamon’s private library and found himself unexpectedly face to face with Kayt.

_Kayt._

How long had it been since she left?

_Three months, one week, four days_.

He should have been startled by how easily the numbers came to him in that moment, but he wasn’t.  In fact, the only thing unsettling him at all just then was that she currently stood before him and he could not tell from her posture if she was glad to see him or not.  

“Kayt?”

He’d once heard that a lot could be expressed in one word, all dependent upon tone or emphasis or even pure emotion.  The first two, he noted, were side effects of the third which he could not hide at all upon seeing her.  Watching her turn now, their eyes meeting for the first time in weeks, he thought he could see something similar in return.  Was it too much to hope for?

Her smile was slow and easy, just the hint of a curve at the corner of her lips, but the full effect was in her brilliant green eyes.   _That_ was enough to set him at ease.  It took two steps for him to close the distance between them, and when he reached out to pull her close, he sighed in relief when she did not hesitate.  Arms tightening around her petite form -- he’d forgotten just how tiny she was -- he murmured near her ear, “I was beginning to think you changed your mind.”

“I told you I would find you again, my lord,” she murmured into his shoulder.

Her voice was a soothing balm over nerves still raw from recent events, and Fergus managed a laugh.  “That you did, _ma petite_ ,” he countered, resorting to the nickname he’d given her before their separation.  

He released her and took a step back, though he trailed a hand down her arm until he could capture her hand securely in his.  It was then he noticed Leliana and Alistair were gone.  When, he knew not, and he was certain he would face some rather exuberant teasing later for it, but just now he couldn’t find it in him to care much.  “Will you be staying long?” he asked  He wondered just how much she knew about the current state of Ferelden politics.  Was she aware she’d just met the king?  Perhaps she already knew him?

Her eyes lowered, but not before he caught a sadness in them and that pulled at something deep inside.  “I am at your disposal,” she announced after a moment.  When she looked back up at him, whatever emotion he caught before was gone, replaced by something more neutral.  “I understand things have … changed since I left?”

“You could say that,” he replied.  “I will gladly tell you all that I know, but you must be tired from your travels.  We should find you a room.  You can wash up and I will see that the kitchens send up a meal and --”

“Fergus?”

He had turned away and started towards the door, but she stood still, her hand tugging at his when he moved too far.  Turning back, he asked, “Yes?”

To his surprise, her hand tightened around his and she took a step towards him.  “All I wish right now is to be with you,” she told him honestly.  “My journey has been long and left me weary.  I want to share with you what I found, but I don’t think I can do that just yet.”

His hand rose so that he could touch her cheek, gently tilting her head so their eyes met again.  “Whenever you are ready,” he promised.  “I can wait.”

“Thank you.”  She sighed softly before continuing, “Though, I might take you up on that offer of food.  I was going to eat at the _Gnawed Noble_ when your friend, Leliana, brought me here.”  Her stomach rumbled none too softly then as if to emphasize the point and they both laughed.

Chuckling, Fergus tucked her arm around his and began leading her out of the room.  “That I can do something about.  Come on.”

 

~ n ~

 

Fergus led the way and Kayt had no choice but to follow, but when they entered what appeared to be the dining hall, she caught onto his plan.  Along the far wall was a table laden with food, and Kayt nearly drooled at the sights and smells that met her senses.  “Help yourself,” Fergus told her while handing over a plate.  “My sister and Alistair are Wardens and as such have somewhat voracious, if not always well timed, appetites.”

Kayt chuckled.  “I have heard such things of Wardens,” she replied while selecting several items and placing them on her plate, “but never witnessed it in person.”

“You’ve never met a Warden before?” he asked.

Kayt nodded.  “Once or twice in passing,” she admitted.  “The last was during a visit to Denerim not long before Ostagar, though I doubt the man knew of my presence.  He had just caught someone trying to pick his pocket and was having an intense discussion with the perpetrator.”

From the doorway, a new voice called out, “That was probably Daveth.  Always thought himself a ladies man too, as I recall.”

Kayt turned to find three people standing there: a beautiful young woman whose resemblance to Fergus identified her immediately.  With her was the young man from the library and Nathaniel.

It was the woman who stepped forward first and spoke again.  “I understand you are Marianne’s daughter, Kayt,” she said by way of greeting.  “I am Bryallyn.”

Kayt set her plate on the table and faced Bryallyn fully.  “You have grown since last I saw you in Highever,” she murmured, “but you and your brother bear enough of a resemblance to one another I could guess.”

Bryallyn chuckled and gestured behind her.  “So we both have been told before.  This is my fellow Warden, Alistair.”

Kayt’s eyes were drawn to the man she’d seen in the library.  “You are Maric’s son?” she asked as pieces of the bigger puzzle began dropping into place.  “The one they say is now king?”

Alistair shrugged, a sheepish look crossing his face.  “Assuming we defeat the darkspawn, kill the archdemon, and end the Blight?  Yes.”

Kayt’s smile widened.  She had no real memories of King Maric from her youth, though her mother’s journal contained several entries suggesting that she and he had interacted with one another on several occasions.  Between those memories and her own, she surmised that the man had been personable enough and his charm had gone a long way to ease his relations with people.  Alistair, it seemed, inherited a similar trait.  For all his warrior training, he had an easy and pleasant manner about him that she could say was refreshing.  She was quite comfortable in his presence.  Glancing over at Fergus, she said, “I guess I returned just in time to help with that.”

“And we will gladly accept all the help we can find to that end,” Bryallyn assured her.  

Kayt’s stomach rumbled loudly to interrupt the discussion and left all of them laughing as a result.  “Have a seat,” Alistair told her.  His eyes darted quickly between Bryallyn and Nathaniel, both of whom nodded.  “If you don’t mind, I think we will join you for a while.”


	103. Return to Redcliffe

After the events of the Landsmeet, it was easy to lose track of time.  Kayt’s return was the first check, coming just two days after.  The second, a brief message from Riordan, coming several days after that, all told just over a week since his departure south.  The contents of the message were vague at best, and as such his suggestion attempted to prepare them for the worst as best he could.

_Another Warden’s insight would be valuable, as would additional support, but we cannot leave Denerim vulnerable.  I think it is clear the archdemon intends to target one of our two locations, but nothing definitive can be determined at this time._

“What does that mean?” Alistair asked while standing beside the hearth and reading over the message himself.

“I believe he is suggesting we split up,” Bryallyn replied.  They were alone in the library, taking necessary precautions should the information from Riordan be anything Warden-specific or secret.  “And he may have a point.”

Bryallyn sighed and wandered over to stare out the window, completely missing Alistair’s look of concern directed her way.  “If we had more Wardens among our numbers, this wouldn’t be an issue,” she continued, “but we are so few we dare not, as my mother used to say, ‘put all of our eggs in one basket.’”

Alistair had opened his mouth to respond, but the unfamiliar words caught him off guard and left him frowning, uncertain exactly what she was driving at.  The expression was not one with which he was familiar.  “I still don’t see --?”

Bryallyn chuckled as she caught onto his dilemma.  “If you have all of your eggs in one basket,” she explained, “then drop the basket, losing them all at once, you will have none for later use.  Does that help?”

Alistair blinked for a moment then began laughing, hand rising and rubbing at the back of his neck in a familiar gesture.  “How have I never heard that before?” he wondered almost to himself.  “Okay, I understand it now.”  He sighed softly.  “You want me to stay here, don’t you?”

Bryallyn nodded, an apology in her eyes.  “I promise you,” she told him, “this is not to ‘keep you safe’ or ‘out of the fight’ like at the Tower of Ishal.  The simple fact of the matter is that we need someone here to be ready just in case Denerim is the real target.  Or,” she added almost as an afterthought, “if they aren’t stopped at Redcliffe.”

Alistair paled at that thought.  He knew good and well what it implied.  “Maker’s breath!” he muttered.

“Indeed.”

“Alright, understood,” he assured her after a moment.  They’d come this far together, with her leading the way in the decision making because she was better at it than he, so he wasn’t about to start doubting her now.  “And, if I’m here, I can continue training our new army for defense.”  In the week or so since the Landsmeet, progress had definitely been made with the new additions to their ranks, but there was still a long way to go.

“Yes,” Bryallyn agreed.  “I will take a few of our group with me.  Those who can travel fast and light, I think.”

“If it’s a small enough party, take horses from the royal stables,” he suggested.  “It can help cut your travel time.”  He pondered silently for a moment.  “Who?”

Bryallyn considered.  “Zevran, Leliana and Morrigan from our group,” she told him, smiling slightly at the look of relief that crossed his face.  “Obviously, Constant and Nathaniel, too.”

Alistair nodded.  Fast and light, indeed.  “Either Eamon and Teagan as well, since they can assist with the troops gathered at Redcliffe and leave you to your Wardening type duties.”

Bryallyn smirked for a moment.  “Wardening?” she echoed.

Alistair grinned back at her.  “It’s like gardening,” he quipped, “only with darkspawn.”

Bryallyn chuckled.  “Fair enough,” she replied.  “Eamon, I think.  Oh, and I’ll take Trinion and Grayson, too.”  She flashed her friend a quick smile.  “I can’t let my brother keep _all_ the Highever soldiers under his command, now can I?”

Alistair returned the grin while rubbing a sore spot on his right shoulder.  He’d spent some time training with Trinion and his men in recent days and could personally verify Bryallyn’s claim that Highever trained some of the best in the land.

Silence settled over the pair then, leaving each to their own thoughts.  After so many months of fighting against the darkspawn and trying to gather allies to join in the fight, knowing that the end was nearing was a heady feeling.  But that said, there was still a lot left to be done, and the pressure was still mounting.

Bryallyn looked over at her friend.  “We can do this,” she murmured, but wasn’t certain if she was trying to reassure him or herself more in that moment.  

His reply was quick and, surprisingly, firm.  Nodding, he simply said, “We can.”

 

~ n ~

 

With the use of horses, the journey south took far less time than if they’d traveled by foot, but it still took Bryallyn and her small group the better part of a week to reach Redcliffe.  They stuck to the Imperial Highway, heading west first and then south, skirting the eastern edge of Lake Calenhad.  And, with each mile closer they neared, the devastation to the land and everything around it worsened.  It was a sobering sight to see, and reinforced the urgency.

Bryallyn pulled her mount to a halt just before the descent down into Redcliffe.  Nathaniel, Leliana, Zevran and Constant moved up alongside her as a black bird landed on the ground nearby and transformed back into Morrigan.  Eamon, Trinion and Grayson halted some distance back from them.

Zevran was the first to speak, muttering something in Antivan that Bryallyn didn’t quite catch, but by the tone of his voice she assumed was a curse.  “I thought I understood the devastation a Blight could bring,” he told them, eyes staring to the south of the village in the direction of the Korcari Wilds.  “I was mistaken.”

“It’s much more widespread than on our last visit,” Bryallyn admitted.

Leliana shuddered.  They’d skirted around the destruction at Lothering, and though the village of Redcliffe below still stood, it was obvious what was in store for it if they did not succeed in their quest.  “Maker have mercy,” she breathed.

“It was worse in Gwaren,” Nathaniel informed them.  “Everyone had fled and the only creatures that remained were blight-tainted.”

Bryallyn glanced over at him.  “You are fortunate none of you became sick yourselves,” she told him softly, forcing back the thought at how close he, her brother, and so many others had come to such a fate.  Sighing, she shifted in her saddle.  “Let’s get to the castle.  The sooner we speak with Riordan, the sooner we can formulate our plan.”

As they rode through the village, it became clear that most of the villagers had already fled for safety.  Those who hadn’t, likely were up at the castle for now, but even that would not remain a sanctuary for much longer.  The village itself gave off an eerie atmosphere of doom and gloom worse than when the battle against the undead had taken place.  An unnatural stillness enveloped the area, too.  Though the taint itself had not yet spread close enough to touch the village, it was close -- Bryallyn could practically feel it crawling over her skin as they rode through.  The faintest hints of decay and rot rode the slightest of breezes, tickling her nose.  The buildings themselves appeared to have a fragile or almost brittle look to them; the landscape around the area, even Lake Calenhad itself, almost as if they awaited death.  And above it all was an unnerving silence that pervaded the air around them.  Not bird nor wolf nor creature of any kind could be heard.  It all felt … unnatural.

They hurried their mounts into the castle courtyard where they met with several stable hands almost immediately.  A shout from the top of the stairs had Bryallyn turning on her heel to find Riordan hurriedly descending to meet her.  “You made good time,” he said, eyeing the horses being led away, “but I fear you may have come on a fool’s errand.”

Bryallyn frowned as she fell into step beside him, the others following as they climbed the stairs and headed inside.  “What do you mean?”

“Since my arrival, I have been scouting the area trying to determine where the darkspawn are headed and in what strength.  From what I have seen, I am afraid they are already moving north and in great numbers.  And I think the archdemon is leading the way and about to show itself.”

“Where?” Eamon asked.

“That I cannot determine,” Riordan replied.  “By all that I know of them and from what I have seen, they should be here by now and in force.”

“Only, they aren’t,” Leliana sighed.  “And if they _are_ headed north, I think we can guess their destination.  Let us hope the others are up to the challenge.”

Trinion frowned.  “You give them too much credit, I think,” he broke in.  “The darkspawn are not nearly so intelligent as to know our geography and where our largest cities are.”

“No,” Bryallyn agreed, “but if the archdemon is leading them, they will be more … unified in thought and action.  And, they can certainly find a Grey Warden easily enough.”  Her eyes drifted back over to Riordan.  “You believe they sensed us all up there?”

He nodded.  “I do, and now they are committed to attack.  But what path they are taking to get there, I cannot tell you, and that concerns me most.  The devastation to the land is obvious and widespread, but there is no clear indication of any numbers of the darkspawn as they pass through.”

“We need to warn them,” Nathaniel murmured, “and head back to help.  They may be able to hold them off for a time, but they will need us.”

“I used the last of Arl Eamon’s messenger birds to send you my request,” Riordan admitted.  “Sadly, many have been lost due to the Blight.”

“I can assist you.”

Cautiously, Bryallyn glanced over at the mage.  Morrigan had never voluntarily offered her help unless there was some benefit or gain in it for herself.  That was her nature, something Bryallyn had figured out early on in their partnership.   _What are you playing at?_ she wondered now, silently analyzing the situation.  “What do you have in mind?” she asked aloud.

“I will change into a bird and return to Denerim to alert the others of the danger,” she explained.  “You will follow after as soon as you are able.  ‘Tis as simple as that.”

Bryallyn’s eyes narrowed, but before she could ask the witch her motivation, Zevran said, “She has a point, no?”

Eamon nodded.  “The horses will need to rest before we can start back.  The sooner the city is made aware of the approaching danger they are facing, the better they can prepare.”

Leliana and Nathaniel both nodded their agreement immediately.  Trinion and Grayson both chimed in with an, “Aye.”  But still, Bryallyn hesitated,  her eyes meeting Morrigan’s after a moment.   _What could possibly be in this for you?  It isn’t something as simple as getting out of danger -- you’ve only done that once in the past and that, at least, was somewhat understandable.  And if anything, this would be taking you directly into the danger area.  No, you have something else in mind.  But what?_

After another moment of silent analysis, Bryallyn finally nodded at Morrigan.  She still suspected the other woman was up to something, but she had no inkling what it could be.  Besides, the others were correct in their assessment.  Alistair and Denerim needed to be warned.  “Tell them the darkspawn are coming, but we do not know from what exact direction or manner or in what numbers.  Tell them --”  She paused for a moment to select her words carefully.  “-- if they can, evacuate the city.  Head north towards the coastlands if possible, it should still be safe enough.”

Morrigan nodded, a slow smile curving at her lips.  “I will do as you ask,” she replied.  

Bryallyn watched her retreating form and observed, as Morrigan passed beyond the front doorway, as in the blink of an eye she shifted from human form into a bird and lifted off into the skies beyond.

Only after the witch was gone did the oddness of Morrigan’s reply hit Bryallyn fully.  Outwardly, the words were innocuous enough, but there was still that sense of a double meaning behind them, and the tone that was used had almost sounded like a contented purr from a cat.  The woman was satisfied Bryallyn had given into her demand.  It was almost as unnerving as the ride through Redcliffe village had been.

“I will see that food and rooms are prepared,” Eamon promised the group.  “We can leave first thing in the morning.”

Riordan took that moment as the others turned away to wander off to find a place to rest for the night to step over beside Bryallyn.  “Warden,” he murmured softly, “if I may have a moment of your time?”

And in that instant and given the tone of voice that he used, Bryallyn felt a lump of dread sink and settle with the weight of lead in her belly.  Somehow, she suspected she was _not_ going to like where this conversation lead one bit.

Still, how else could she reply?  “Of course.”

 


	104. Eve of Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over the weekend, we got an update on Mom’s progress. Things aren’t looking good. I’m still going to try to get this story done in the next few months or so (I’m planning on using April’s Camp Nano as a means to finish the last eight or so chapters), but things may get too involved for that. If they do, I apologize in advance. I WILL finish this story, I promise, but it may take longer.  
> As always, huge thanks to my beta, Erynnar.

With the departure of Bryallyn and the others, the training of defensive forces continued as Alistair promised.  The darkspawn would come eventually, there was no doubt about that.  The only question was where.  Even the when could be determined, if not the exact location.   _Soon_.  With the nobility now unified behind him, Alistair had an army from which he could draw to fight against the threat, and in addition to the mages, elves, dwarves and Eamon’s soldiers from Redcliffe.  Thankfully, these new soldiers seemed content to place themselves under his leadership.  That was a beginning.  And, no matter who their lord or lady, or their level of training, when it came to fighting darkspawn, there were certain areas where Alistair and others of their traveling group had valuable experience to share, and share it they did.  Alistair did his best to put aside concerns for welfare and inevitable loss of life -- it was war, it would happen, no matter how he wished it wouldn’t.  But he could give them warning about methods and techniques in fighting against genlocks, hurlocks, or even shades.  Or group tactics to fight ogres.  All in all, it was more than they’d had before.  He just hoped it would be enough.

After initial strategy sessions with Fergus, Kayt, Rhyan, Sten and Oghren, a plan was created to disseminate the information.  Strategy and tactics, methods and techniques.  All of it was covered in as much detail as possible and then put into practice so that each soldier got some, albeit limited, experience.  It wasn’t the best outcome possible -- what would be short of defeating the Blight before they had to actually face it? -- but it hopefully meant keeping as many of them alive for as long as possible, and that was good.  If they managed to take a few more darkspawn with them in the process, all the better.

While Alistair and those who had actively been fighting against the darkspawn worked with the newest additions of their army, Delilah, Shaessa and Taerian accompanied by Padraig, Nyles, Durbin and Gryffyd, spread out around the city to circulate suggestions for defenses and warn those who could to pack up and head away from the city.  They covered the entire city including the alienage.  And while Delilah had expected a certain amount of distrust and disdain from the elves there -- Nate and Bry had told her in detail what happened during their last adventure -- upon meeting up with Valendrian and Shianni, there was at least some level of open welcome for their concern.  Evacuation would not be possible for most of them, but they would stay and fight.  With that in mind, after their visit, Delilah met up with Sanderson and Tomil, who had come to Denerim upon Delilah’s request after the Landsmeet, and she requested that they, Shaessa, Taerian and any others they could gather together work with the elves as much as possible to give them a fighting chance.  It wouldn’t be much -- everyone understood that time was short now -- but it would, hopefully, give them more experience to draw upon.  When Kayt caught wind of Delilah’s plan, she offered her services as well as she had a working relationship with the alienage elves in her experience as _Le Renard Blanc_.  

The days were hectic and chaotic with all the activity, but it was an organized chaos.  Still, by the end of the day, most were left exhausted.  There was little time for anything but finding a meal and getting some rest in preparation for the next day.

In the first days of Kayt’s return, an awkwardness between herself and Fergus, no doubt stemming from her sudden and unexpected departure months before, remained between them.  Neither was certain where their growing relationship would lead back then, but with the anonymity gained by traveling out on the road, it was easier to be more relaxed and deal with such things.  Now, thrown back together once again and under the public eye, Maker alone knew how many pairs of eyes watching their every move, and suddenly the situation was something much more daunting.

Still, there were some good things that came from a reunion here.  Though their time together was brief, Kayt finally met Fergus’ sister, Bryallyn, and spoke with her at length before she and Nathaniel departed for Redcliffe.  Promises were exchanged on both sides to further the discussion when time and proximity permitted, but it left Kayt feeling more at ease than she might have expected under other circumstances.  

Greeting Delilah Howe again went smoothly enough, too, and the look of surprise on _Dareth’asha_ ’s face when she met _Le Renard_ ’s alter ego was priceless to Kayt.  They spent several afternoons talking; mostly catching up with events since Kayt’s departure from the forest, but also in discussing Delilah’s growing ability and confidence.  Add in the time spent with the elves at the alienage and training with them, and it had an atmosphere similar to what Kayt had observed in the Wending Woods.

Properly meeting with Alistair was a delight, even to the young king.  Though most of their discussions centered on tactics and strategy, they did manage to sneak in a few moments for relaxed discussion as well.  Kayt sensed his unease with his new position.  She also observed how Delilah’s presence appeared to help him feel more relaxed.  Though she currently kept her thoughts to herself in this regard, she was not surprised by it.  If nothing else, she knew from their first encounter that Delilah could relate to it.  Kayt wasn’t certain if it was the younger woman’s natural ability to help others feel more comfortable or if she’d taken Kayt’s words to heart during their encounter in the Wending Woods, but whatever force was behind it, the situation did not surprise the ranger.

Though her days were filled with activity, her nights were more relaxed.  Or at least as much as they could be given current circumstances.  She shared the evening meal with the king and all of their other companions and listened attentively to their stories of adventure.  Upon occasion, she added a few or her own to the mix, though she left the adventures of _Le Renard_ for another time.  They might well be facing the end of the world as they knew it to be, but there was still something to be said for retaining anonymity in hopes for the days to follow.

At the end of the day and once the others broke off and retired, however, Kayt finally found time alone with Fergus.  Their first few nights back together were mostly spent talking.  Nothing too serious, mostly going over events that took place during their separation.  But, it gave them time alone with one another, closing themselves in Fergus’ suite of rooms so they could spend it together.

This evening, a little over a week since Kayt’s return, Fergus led her to the sitting room adjoining the bedroom and guided her to sit on the couch.  There, he dropped into the seat beside her and sighed.  “I know I promised to wait until you were ready to discuss what happened during your journey,” he began softly and turned to face her, “and if you still don’t wish to discuss it I will abide by that decision.  But I just want to remind you that I’m here for you.”  He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her gently against him.  “You’ve come back to a country in chaos, I’m afraid, and I don’t want you to become lost in it all.”

Smiling, Kayt rested her head on his shoulder.  “The chaos is understandable,” she told him.  “Facing a Blight will do that.  But I appreciate your offer.”

It was selfish, he suspected, that he took such delight in simply sitting there with her, yet he could not stop himself.  “I suppose I should assume since you arrived alone that your hunt was unsuccessful,” he mused quietly after some consideration.  It was a statement more than it was a question, and one he did not really expect her to answer, but it left open the door should she wish to go through it.

Sighing heavily, Kayt turned more fully into the embrace he offered.  “Yes and no,” she replied.  “The information you and Nathaniel found in Gwaren led me to another group of Tevinter slavers like the ones your sister found in the alienage here, but fewer were involved.  I was able to determine they were the ones who took Andaer, but I have not been able to ascertain where he was sent.”  She glanced up at him and offered him a small smile of apology.  “My travels took me to Orlais and the Free Marches, even into Antiva itself before I realized I was not likely ever to find him.  I would have returned sooner -- _should_ have -- but the trail took so long to follow, and --”

Fergus lifted his fingers to cover her lips then.  “You need not apologize to me,” he told her.  He shifted just a bit and pulled her up onto his lap, a position that he decided was one that he liked, particularly if the light flush on her cheeks had anything to do with it.  But once she settled, she rested her head against his shoulder again and that he _definitely_ liked and it appeared she did too.  “I’m thankful you are here now.”

Kayt wrapped her arms around him, allowing herself to fully relax for the first time in a very long while.  “As am I,” she told him.

After some minutes of sitting in which Fergus wondered if she might have fallen asleep, so still had she become, he mused, “Had you but asked, I would have traveled with you.”

Her lips curved into a smile against his neck.  “I know,” she replied, “but you have responsibilities here that require your attention.  I was not about to pull you away from that.”

Fergus guided her into an upright position until he could cradle her face with his hands.  “You are important to me, Kayt,” he told her in all earnestness.  “More than anything else at the moment.”

Kayt’s cheeks flushed pink, but she did not pull away from him nor try to turn her gaze.  “Your people must come first,” she reminded him.  “I cannot get in the way of --”

“You don’t.”  He swore softly beneath his breath then gently urged her closer.  When she acquiesced, he lowered his lips to find hers.  Maybe he would have better luck if he showed her.

 

~ n ~

 

“I told you we had unfinished business with one another.”

Fergus snorted softly as he lay in bed with Kayt snuggled up against him, his hand running up and down her back in both a soothing gesture.  “You told me many things then, as I recall.”

Kayt chuckled.  “I did at that,” she agreed.  Rolling towards him, she lay across his torso in order to face him.  Rising just a bit so she could rest her head in the palm of her hand, she looked down at him and began running a finger lightly along his chest.  He shivered at the touch, the muscles rippling just beneath her fingertips, and she could not hold back a grin.  “I believe I told you I was like my mother in some ways, and in other ways I was not.”

Fergus finally reached out and grasped her wrist to get her to stop the delightful teasing to which she was subjecting him.  Lifting her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss to the fingertips before releasing it.  “I recall something along those lines, yes,” he agreed, his arms lowering around her waist and holding tightly there lest she decide to move again in other more delightful ways.  Now that he had her talking again, he wanted to keep that going.

“Have you sorted out what I meant?” she challenged as she pushed herself upright.

Fergus stared up into her green eyes for a long moment even as he felt the edge of her braid tickling along his abdomen.  “Well, you are a master archer.”

Kayt chuckled, green eyes flashing.  “That is too obvious,” she murmured with an impish grin.  “Try again.”

Fergus wondered at the look he saw in those eyes, a bit of a twinkle, a spark of mischief.  Reaching out, he moved one hand down her side, over the outer edge of her hip.  As he framed her waist, her hand moved to stop his progress and he could not help but wonder if she was ticklish.  But instead of pushing his hand away, she instead pulled it lower, across the gentle swell of her belly.  At first he was so startled by her actions, they were difficult to interpret.  But when she patted the back of his hand, a hazy and vague memory from his past returned and he just … knew.  His eyes widened and dropped to stare at the area their hands both covered first, then darted back up to meet hers, almost hesitant with a mix of hope and fear.  At a loss, he could only manage to gasp, “A child?”

Kayt smiled softly and nodded.  “That is the other reason my return took so long,” she admitted quietly.  “I was taking great care in my travels.”

Still astounded, Fergus could not decide what to do next.  Some of her earlier words came back to him.  “You said you are like your mother?”  A fear began to rise and win out over hope in that moment as he wondered if her statement implied she would leave him to have the child and raise it alone as her mother had done with her.

Kayt watched it all as the emotions played crossed his face.  The moment she recognized it, she leaned down to kiss him fully on his lips.  A gentle kiss of reassurance.  “In some ways I am, yes,” she agreed.  Still holding his hand to her belly despite the awkwardness of their current position, she added, “And in other ways not.”  She released her hand from his and sat back up, adding, “Unless you do not want --”

Fergus hissed out a curse and pulled her to him then, heedless of her words.  “May lightning strike me dead before that!” he said.  Rolling their bodies until he was looming over her, he told her in a choked voice, “You found a way into my life and my heart when I least expected it, only I didn’t realize just how important you were to me until you were gone.  I can’t -- _won’t_ \-- go through that again!  Kayt, I need you, if you are willing to stay.  I know you are used to being on the road, to having no permanent home, but --”

“My home has always been with those I love and who love me,” she assured him easily.  Her hand finding his still hovering over their child and pressing it close once more, she added, “If it is your wish, our home will be together.”

 

~ n ~

 

Releasing the last vestiges of guilt he’d been fighting since realizing his feelings for Kayt were strong and he could live with the memories of Oriana and Oren as well was one thing.  Coinciding them with the realities of their current situation, however, was something completely different.  

“No.  It’s too dangerous.”

Kayt’s brow raised at his tone.  “You said it yourself, Fergus: I am a master archer.  You _need_ me in the fight with you.”  Her tone was calm, confident, reasonable and determined.

Fergus rounded on her and in that moment, Kayt saw it in his eyes.  The fear.  Sighing, she could not help thinking, _You poor, poor man._  

“I need to know you are safe.”

There was a crack in his voice, and Kayt walked over to him.  Reaching up, she placed a hand along his jaw, guiding his head so that he looked directly at her.  She allowed the depth of her feelings for him to show on her face; the love for him and the child, the desire for them to be together as a family.  “What better place to have that than at the line with you?” she challenged softly.  “I have to fight, Fergus.  We need all the people we can get, you know that.  If we do not defeat them here and now, what chance will we or our child have for a future?”

“Kayt ….”

She stepped forward further and wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her head against his chest.  She could feel his chin as it settled upon the top of her head, and the trembling of his hand as it rose to rest over her tummy.  Placing her hand over his, she pressed firmly.  “We will be safe,” she promised.  Looking up, she saw the battle raging in his eyes.  “Your mother --” she began softly.

But he cut her off with a jerky nod, rasping, “I know.”  He lowered his head until their foreheads rested against one another.  He didn’t need to be reminded of his mother’s adventures when pregnant with him.  “I’m terrified,” he admitted, staring deeply into her eyes, “and torn.  I left Oriana and Oren at home where it should have been safe, yet they were killed without even the chance to fight back.”  He took a deep breath and swallowed, eyes closing for a moment.  “I know you are not her, that your backgrounds are completely different.  You are like your mother, but she, too, fell in battle, and --”

“And yours did not,” Kayt reminded him gently.  “My mother’s journal -- did you read it?”  He nodded.  “Did you not see the stories she told of your father and mother?  Of how they fought together, side by side?”

“I know, and they continued to do so up until their deaths,” he admitted.

Kayt lifted her hand to rest against his cheek, watching as his eyes opened again to meet hers.  “If we do not defeat this threat,” she whispered, “we will have no future, you know that.  It is up to us to end it here before it spreads out to the rest of Thedas.”

His arms wrapped around her and pulled her close as he whispered tightly into her ear, “Sweet Andraste, do you know what you ask of me?”

“Do you think it different for me?” she countered.  “I lost my mother when I was but a child to a war I did not understand.  I lost my guardian to those who would imprison anyone they can for a few handfuls of coppers.  I understand pain and loss as do you, Fergus.  I cannot in good conscience leave this battle to you and not be by your side.”

His eyes tightened again.  “I … can’t --”

“I love you.”

Three words.  Three words that gave him strength and yet tore him apart.  Three words that made him feel as if he was on top of the world, and yet left him desperately wishing he could send her away, for safety’s sake only.  Three words that left him breathless, his heart racing, his mind reeling.

“And I you.”

What else could he do?

 


	105. All Things Dark and Ritual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am rather proud of this chapter. Writing Morrigan is difficult for me on several levels and for varying reasons, but I really feel like I managed to capture her elusive voice here. I hope you agree! :)

From the first time the idea of his becoming king was mentioned alongside with his name, Alistair feared it would be a bad idea.  Oh, he’d given his usual flippant and self-deprecating remarks -- Bryallyn never believed him about the ending up with no pants thing, but there was an actual story behind that -- and those had normally done the trick.  Said trick being, of course, to dissuade those discussing such lofty ideas away from that particular course of action.  For a time, it worked and Alistair had even allowed himself to be fooled into thinking the status quo would remain as it was.  Minus the darkspawn, of course.  Oh, and the whole ‘off with their heads’ civil war Loghain started.

But, had anyone other than Bryallyn -- who, surprisingly, seemed to understand him better than most people -- ever bothered to get beyond all that to the actual heart of the matter and discuss it with him, especially as time progressed and the situation grew steadily worse, they would have been surprised at Alistair’s true feelings on the matter.  The jokes were, as Bryallyn once accused him, simply a self-defense mechanism.  

For nearly his entire life, Alistair had been told he would under no condition ever be king, so he shouldn’t ever start thinking along those lines.  As a child, it also meant he never got to know his biological father or his half brother.  In and of itself, that wasn’t such a bad thing, though he would have liked the opportunity to speak with his father at least one time before his disappearance.  

When he was older, things changed and yet stayed the same.  This time, it meant being shipped off to the Chantry -- something he suspected was been planned all along for him, Lady Isolde’s complaints about his relationship to Eamon or not.  Again, overall not a very bad thing, though he never seemed to fit in well at the monastery.  He’d liked the martial training and most of the book learning, even if the hours of prayer and meditations left him with aching knees and a desire to make sure he wasn’t alone at times as a result.

It was only later in his life that he was introduced to another side of this particular coin.  Only when Duncan recruited him to the Wardens did Alistair _truly_ find a home and with that, a sense of place.  It took some getting used to, of course, and Alistair was smart enough to figure out that some of his antics might have caused his mentor more than a few instances of heartburn or concern, but overall he’d been the happiest he’d ever been in his life.  He could fight -- something he knew he was good at -- and he didn’t have to worry about his past and how others viewed him because of his parentage, or lack thereof.  He was simply a Grey Warden and all that entailed and he’d been quite happy with that.

And yet, after the events at Ostagar, after the deaths of those he considered family and the near destruction of Ferelden as a whole -- by Blight or Loghain’s actions, it didn’t matter which -- Alistair came to one conclusion long before Bryallyn or, to his surprise and astonishment after all these years, Eamon mentioned it.  Reluctance did not mean he did not see it, it only meant that acknowledgement and acceptance would take longer.  The land needed a king, a Theirin on the throne. Generally speaking, Anora wasn’t a bad ruler, he didn’t think.  No, the problem came when she allowed her father take over control -- intentional or not, she did nothing to stop him and thus she allowed it to happen -- and the results were disastrous.  When Cailan was king, everyone knew Anora was the real power behind the crown.  But with Loghain there?  That was an entirely different situation.  Either Anora was the power behind the throne still and made some horrible decisions that Loghain carried out in her name, or she’d let her father take the power into his own hands without consent by the Landsmeet and done absolutely nothing to stop him.  That was the worst step she’d ever have taken, no matter the root cause, as far as Alistair was concerned.

Well, that and she and Cailan never produced an heir together.

_So why does that make me a better candidate?_ Alistair wondered as he roamed through the halls of Eamon’s estate.  As late as it was, he knew he should be considering heading to bed, but his dreams of late, at least those not influenced by the archdemon, were more troubled than usual, and most of it because of the new added pressures that came with wearing the crown atop his head.  Especially that heir thing.  The little he knew of the Wardens and their, err, breeding habits, most of those who were parents had become so _before_ their Joining.  How was he supposed to produce an heir now that he’d passed his Joining and become a full fledged Warden?  And king?

His thoughts regarding this situation were heavy and deep, so it took several minutes for him to realize that the cawing he heard above as he crossed the inner courtyard on his way to his rooms was not just a bird descending into the grassy garden area, but one that was speaking -- speaking?! -- directly to him.  Pausing at the doorway, he turned on his heel as the creature landed nearby.  Darker than the night sky surrounding them, it looked like any other raven in Ferelden save for the yellowish-gold eyes that reminded him of ….

Alistair froze as the animal changed shape into a human before him.  “Morrigan?”  Their eyes met.  Hers held a certain level of seriousness behind them, but he also thought he detected a hint of mischief and humor.  “Why are you back?”

As difficult as her face was to read at times, he detected the smirk curling upwards at the corner of her lips easily enough.  “I was sent to warn you,” she replied.  “Your Warden friend, Riordan, said the darkspawn are on their way to Denerim.  He believes, as do the others, that they have bypassed Redcliffe altogether.”

Alistair blinked.  Bryallyn had been right, though why that should be a surprise to him at this late date he didn’t know.  “Did he give you an estimate of how long?” he asked.

Morrigan shook her head.  “He was uncertain of their path.  There were no obvious signs of them or what path they took, not in the numbers they would need to take a city of this size.  I can attest to this myself, for as I flew back, I watched.  The devastation of the land is widespread and there are darkspawn heading in this direction, but I saw no archdemon leading the way, and the groups I did see were raiding parties and certainly smaller in number than what you faced at Ostagar.”

Alistair considered for a moment.  No archdemon, no estimate of numbers, no idea from where they were coming.  Everyone _knew_ they were coming, that it was only a matter of when, but that said, surely as a Grey Warden he would _feel_ them when they neared as he usually did, wouldn’t he?  Or, at the very least, hear them?  Especially since the archdemon was leading them?  Duncan had told him time and again that he knew it was a real Blight because he _heard_ the archdemon talking.  In his dreams, perhaps, but it was still communication.  Then it struck him.  His dreams!  “How close to the city was the damage?” he asked.  Perhaps he could make a guess based off that?

“Two days marching distance south,” she replied.

_Two days_.  

Alistair straightened and turned back towards the doorway.  “I need to wake the others,” he said.  “We need to evacuate as many of the remaining population as we can and --”

But before he could take more than a step, Morrigan called out, “Alistair, wait.  There is something more you should know.”

He thought to ignore her, to continue and focus on the mission.  To find Teagan or Fergus.  Because, never before had Morrigan _ever_ sought him out first like this.  Even during their time in the Deep Roads together.  Always, it had been _him_ asking _her_.  A voice in the back of his head began shouting warning even before it fully registered.  There was _some_ thing in the tone she used that struck him as unusual and different.  He should just keep on walking and ignore her based on that alone ….

But he didn’t.  Instead, he paused and waited, half turning towards her.  He suspected he would end up regretting his decision later, perhaps even paying for it too.  Still his instincts screamed at him, and still he chose to ignore them.  Willingly.  “What?”

A spark, just the merest hint of fire flared behind her eyes.  One minute it was there, and the next he blinked and it was gone.  “Have you not wondered why and how it is a Grey Warden must be the one to kill the archdemon to end a Blight?” she asked.  

Alistair blinked then frowned.  “I’m sorry?”

“To end the Blight,” she repeated and without her usual rancor and snarkiness, yet another warning that she was up to something, he thought, “a Grey Warden must slay the archdemon.  Surely you know this?”

He shrugged.  “Everyone knows that,” he replied.

Her brow arched slightly.  “Do you know the reason why?” she queried.

His frown deepened.  “Does that matter?”

Now it was her eyes that narrowed.  “A Warden must be the one to kill the archdemon because when this happens, the spirit of the Old God exits the body of the archdemon for the nearest, strongest body containing the Taint.”  She paused a moment, then added for clarification, “If no Warden is present, t’would simply jump to the next strongest darkspawn and transform itself into another archdemon, thus continuing on with its reign of terror.  If, however, a Warden is present, the soul of the Old God is drawn to the Warden and he takes it within himself instead.”

The blood drained from his face as the air in his lungs escaped in one fell whoosh, understanding hitting him solidly in that moment.  The constriction of his lungs ached tightly and speaking was difficult.  “That … that would kill him …,” he rasped after a time.  “No one could handle the spirit of an Old God ...!”

“That is correct,” Morrigan agreed.  “Yet, with the Warden’s death, the Old God dies and the Blight is ended.”

Alistair stumbled over to a nearby bench and dropped heavily onto the seat.  “Why?” he breathed.  “Why didn’t Duncan tell me?”

Morrigan followed and for the first time since their acquaintance, she spoke kindly to him.  “I suspect your mentor intended the final blow would come from his own hand.  Did you not once say he was already having the types of dreams all Wardens have once they reach a certain age?”

Alistair nodded numbly.  “But …  Oh, Maker!” he gasped, another thought hitting him on the heels of the first.  “Bryallyn!”

Morrigan nodded.  “Fear not.  I believe our friend is being informed by Riordan,” she told him reassuringly.  “She will not go into this battle unprepared.”

That observation caught his attention and Alistair’s eyes darted over to focus on her.  “And how exactly is it that _you_ know of this?” he demanded.  “You are no Warden.”

Morrigan laughed softly, a small smile playing at her lips.  “Surely you don’t believe that all your Warden secrets are actually secret, do you?”

“I -- Never mind.”  Because in the end, did it really matter?  One of the three remaining Grey Wardens in Ferelden was going to have to die in order to stop the Blight from spreading beyond the borders and into the rest of Thedas.   _And all because Loghain wouldn’t allow the Orlesian Wardens inside the borders …._

“There is a way in which to stop the archdemon without one of you losing your life.”

Morrigan’s words, twisted in a tone that tempted, tickling his brain and teasing his emotional response, left him staring over at her despite the disbelief he felt.  “How?” he asked cautiously.

Triumph.  Victory.  Almost a look of gloating.  It passed behind her eyes so quickly, he nearly missed it.  “Lie with me tonight.  From our union, a child will be conceived.  That child will carry the same Taint you carry.  When the Wardens face the archdemon and kill it, the Old God will seek out the child instead of you, and --”

“You -- Wait.  What?!”  Alistair bolted to his feet, horrorstruck.   _Lie with me …._  “Okay, assuming I get beyond my immediate reaction to such a plan -- which begins with, why would you even suggest such a thing to me when we can’t even stand to be around one another, let alone guarantee that a child would be conceived in one night -- do you _honestly_ think I would willingly create a child with you only to let you kill it in such a way?!  What kind of monster do you take me for?”

“The child will not die,” she insisted.  “Alistair, this is old magic, _ancient_ magic.  The child will be young enough to withstand the change that occurs when it absorbs the soul of the Old God.  That transformation will destroy the Taint but not the child himself.”  She rose to her feet and turned to face him.  “And thus, it will allow you and Bryallyn and your fellow Warden, Riordan, to kill the archdemon, end the Blight, and live beyond these events.”

Alistair’s hands rose to cover his face.  He used them to scrub hard as if trying to wash away a bit of dirt.  But at the same time, something else occurred to him.  Motivation, perhaps?  “So, you want me to get you pregnant so the Old God will seek the child out,” he repeated and she nodded.  “But not, I think, because you want to make sure the Wardens -- in particular me -- survive.”  His eyes met hers and held.  “No, your intentions aren’t nearly so noble.   _I_ think you have ulterior motives.”

She chuckled.  “And what might those be?” she asked with the faintest hint of amusement in her tone.

“You don’t want the child,” he announced with just a hint of anger in his tone, “you want the soul of the Old God.”

This time it was Morrigan who blinked, once and in a very cat-like manner.  “I am impressed, Alistair,” she murmured, slightly inclining her head in agreement.  “And yes, t’is at least in part the reason for my request.”

“Why?”  The question came out more harshly than he’d intended, but the idea stung.  She was essentially asking him to do the _very same thing_ his father had done, but for her own selfish reasons.  And the thing was, he knew she knew about his past.  It was difficult to hide it once they began down the path leading him to the throne.  

_Speaking of …._

Rising back to his feet, Alistair glared over at her.  “And what guarantee do I have you won’t someday come back here and make a claim to the throne of Ferelden with this child?” he demanded.  After all, hadn’t he just done the same thing?

Her eyes brightened just a bit more, whether in admiration for him sticking up for himself or for some other reason, he didn’t know.  “I give you my word,” she promised.

Alistair’s eyes narrowed further.  “Based on our previous experience together, that’s hardly reassuring.”  

Sighing, Morrigan replied, “Fine.  Would you prefer it as a sworn oath?   _I swear to you, King Alistair Theirin, that I will not return to Ferelden with our child to lay claim to your precious throne.  My only wish is to ensure that the Grey Wardens survive and successfully defeat the Blight that threatens all of Thedas._  There.  Will that suffice?”

Folding his arms across his chest, Alistair remained silent, considering her words carefully.

“Let me put it to you this way,” she offered in an effort to convince him.  “Your senior Warden is, no doubt, explaining all of this to Bryallyn at this very moment.  He would be a fool not to, and I do not take him for a fool.  There are three Wardens in all of Ferelden who can stop the Blight’s progress before it spreads beyond the borders.  You have the opportunity to end it before it engulfs the world into chaos for who knows how long.  Do you not remember your history lessons?  And, practically speaking the chances are that one of you, if not all of you, will fall during battle.  You have just been named king, do you really want Anora back on the throne if you should die?  And what of Bryallyn?  The Wardens of Ferelden will need to rebuild.  Would you rather it be one of your own or an outsider under who knows what influence?  And think of _her_ child.  Do you want Bryce to grow up like you did?  Without his parents around to love and protect him?”

Alistair’s lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes narrowed.  “How very kind and gracious of you to offer,” he muttered.

She opted to ignore his interruption and continue on.  “This ritual -- and it is a ritual, do not doubt that -- will ensure that the Warden who kills the archdemon will survive the encounter so that, if nothing else, the Order will continue on after the Blight ends.”

“Because, of course, you care enough to save the King of Ferelden and Bryallyn simply because you care.”

Alistair was surprised when he saw a flash of pain in Morrigan’s eyes, but her response was more what he expected.  “My concern for Ferelden politics is minimal at best,” she told him.  “They could put a bronto on the throne for all I would care and t’would likely do just as well if not better.  But Bryallyn ….”  She paused a moment then sighed.  “The Order must continue,” she finally added, “and t’would be better for all involved if that came from within Ferelden rather than from outside influences.”

Alistair got the impression she was still hiding something from him.  Then again, he often felt that way where she was involved.  Chewing on his lower lip, he considered her offer again.  He was reluctant -- loathe, really -- to admit it, but she had a valid point.  And to be quite honest, the only reason he was actually giving any thought about it at all was to guarantee Bryallyn’s survival.  She’d been their leader when he had been unable.  She’d made all the tough calls, guided them through the challenges, helped all of them personally.  He was grateful to her for all she’d done, and this was a small price to pay to guarantee that she, at least, survived.  Because in all honesty, even if she and the others arrived back in Denerim in time, chances were he would not be able to manipulate things to guarantee that he was the one to make the final kill.  

Sighing, Alistair shook his head.  “There is no other way?”

“None of which I am aware given there are only three Wardens alive in Ferelden at this time.”

He half turned away.  In the distance, he thought he heard a baby cry, and his thoughts immediately turned towards Bryce.   _What will it be like for him to grow up without his mother?  Perhaps both parents?  Morrigan is giving me a way to guarantee a better chance of survival for at least one of them.  What right do I have to just toss it to the side and let him end up like I did?_  

Logic was a stubborn beast to ignore, even for Alistair, but that did not make it any easier to acknowledge it.  “So be it.”  His words, when they came at last, rasped roughly past his lips and faded quickly into the night air around them.  

Looping her arm through his, Morrigan began guiding him in the direction of the room she’d been using during their stay at Arl Eamon’s estate.  “Relax, Alistair,” she purred calmly.  “‘The experience will not be nearly so bad as you imagine.”

Muttering beneath his breath, Alistair managed, “I’m going to regret this ….”

 

~ n ~

 

Since the departure of her brother and Bryallyn, Delilah attempted to keep herself busy in a number of different ways and, therefore, distracted.  During the days, she was usually successful because there was simply too much that needed doing to take the time away to worry about them.  The nights, on the other hand, were something else altogether.

For the fourth night in a row, Delilah was up and wandering the near empty halls of Arl Eamon’s estate in an attempt to find some way to set her restless mind at ease enough so she could get a decent night’s sleep.  For the fourth night in a row, she was having very little, if any, success at it.  Though this evening it was also in part due to the alarm the king sent around regarding word of the approaching darkspawn.

Coming sometime after eleven bells, she and the others were called to gather in the dining hall to hear him proclaim that the darkspawn horde was on the move, led by the archdemon, and best guesses had it about two days away from the city.  Once the flurry and scurry of questions and plans, of strategy and tactics was over and the dust settled once again, Delilah found herself alone in the hall save for one other figure.

Stepping towards him, Delilah called out softly.  “Your Majesty?”

Alistair jumped as though she’d startled him even though he’d been staring right at her.  He blinked a time or two until his focus centered and his golden amber gaze found hers.  “Please, Delilah,” he begged roughly, “it’s just Alistair.”

Concerned because he did not seem to be his normal self -- even she was getting used to lopsided smiles and his attempts at humor to set everyone at ease --she took a seat beside him.  “What troubles you, Alistair?” she asked softly.  “Is it the darkspawn?”

Alistair snorted, an inelegant sound to be certain, but it did seem to bring a hint of color back to his cheeks.  He opened his mouth to say something, closed it again and swallowed tightly, then reached out a fist and pounded it against the table in front of them both, rattling a fork upon an empty plate from earlier.  Delilah jumped herself this time, but she also reached out to cover his hand with her own.  She noted his head turn and his eyes stare at her hand for a long time before he finally tried speaking again.

“Have you ever,” he began, half whispering, “done something you didn’t want to do; that you were very certain was the _wrong_ thing to do, but you went ahead and did it anyway because it was for the right reasons?”

Delilah swallowed tightly sensing something more to the question than the words outright suggested.  Eventually, she shook her head.  “N-nothing comes immediately to mind,” she told him, “though I’m sure I probably have at some point in my life.”

He turned his head, his eyes finding hers, and she saw regret there.  “I - I can’t give you specifics,” he told her.  “Warden secrets --”

_Ah.  Well, that makes sense_.  Delilah offered him a quick smile of understanding and squeezed his hand.  “That’s okay,” she assured him.

His eyes closed, head lowering a bit even as he lifted her hand in his until he could press it to his cheek.  His other hand he lifted to gently to mimic and caress hers.  “No, it isn’t,” he countered, “but maybe, one day, I can change that.”  He swallowed tightly again and Delilah saw his Adam’s apple bounce even as a hint of a blush stained his neck and cheeks.  “Well, as long as you agree to let me court you properly.”

Delilah blinked.  “Court me?” she squeaked in astonishment. “As in … as in to eventually become your … queen?”

His eyes softened and the lopsided grin finally appeared.  “Would that be so bad?” he asked.

“I ….”  It was her turn to blush and swallow convulsively.  “No,” she managed after a moment.  “Not bad at all, I wouldn’t think.”

Alistair sighed.  He pulled her hand down so he could kiss the back of it, his lips brushing lightly across her knuckles.  “I want to be a good king,” he admitted, “but there are times when I feel ….”

She squeezed his hand again.  “I will help you how I can.  Just tell me what you would have me do.”

He took a deep breath, but Delilah could swear his shoulders seemed more at ease than they had mere moments before.  “If you would, go with the evacuees.  Most of them will be too confused and frightened to know what to do.  Help them find _some_ place out of danger where they can stay.  You have experience with your camp in the Wending Woods.  Put that to use here.  Please.”

Delilah’s lips curved slightly and she nodded.  “I can do that,” she assured him.  “Fergus was telling me of a place we could take them.  It’s a fair distance from Denerim, but it will be safe.”  She rose when he seemed relieved and moved around to his side so she could kneel next to him which put her just below his eye level.  “But what about you?”

The hand at her cheek moved upwards into her hair, burying into the dark tresses.  “I will stay here and do what I can to defend the city.  Hopefully, it will be enough.”  He breathed in deeply again, dropping his hand before leaning towards her and quickly, lightly brushing his lips against hers.  “We work well together, you know?”

Delilah smiled through the blush that came back with a vengeance.  “I’d say that’s a good start.”

He chuckled.  “Definitely a good start,” he agreed before sitting back.  Metal booted footsteps could be heard approaching the dining hall.  Reluctantly, Alistair rose and helped her to her feet.  “Now go,” he murmured, tracing the side of her jaw with his thumb, “and look for me when this is all over, because I promise, I --”

Delilah lifted a finger to cover his lips and silence him.  “Save it until we are together again,” she whispered.  “It will give me something else to come back to.”  And without another word, she turned and left the hall.  She had a job to do now, something on which to focus, and it would be more than enough to keep her busy for the foreseeable future.

 


	106. One Night in Redcliffe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still have one more chapter before a mini-hiatus (April Camp Nano) to write the last eight chapters or so.  But never fear, I WILL FINISH!!!  
> 
> Thanks as always to my intrepid beta, Erynnar, without whom I would never have made it this far!

 

Over the months since the attacks on Highever, himself, and his separation from his wife, Nathaniel gave little thought to the dangers of what such a lengthy break between them so early on in their marriage might bring.  Instead, his entire focus was on finding Bryallyn or, if fate was unkind, finding proof of her death.  The addition of fighting his way through a Blight in order to seek the answers he required did little but give him an outlet for his frustration.  Killing darkspawn was just as satisfying, if somewhat more risky, as killing bandits or Loghain’s or his father’s men.

Reuniting with Bryallyn after so long without her was sweet, of course, but with a hint of bitterness as well.  Neither was as innocent in thoughts and beliefs nor as trusting as they’d once been.  That was to be expected, he supposed, after what they went through at the hands of his father.  Since their reunion, however, Nathaniel’s concerns were now being refocused on Bryallyn’s role as a Grey Warden.

There were the obvious things: as a Warden, she was the center of attention for any and all who needed impartial intervention and/or judgement in a situation.  The alienage elves in Denerim were a good example of that recently, as were the elves and werewolves in the Brecilian Forest, from what he’d been told.  The unfortunate side effect of taking on such a role, however, was that neither of them were able to find even a little quality time to spend together and figure out just where they were as a couple, where they were going, or even if the future ahead of them was meant to be spent together.  Plainly put, they needed time.  Time to get to know one another again.  Time to share their stories from their separation and work through the accompanying emotional reactions.  Time for them both to heal from it all.

The constant pull of Bryallyn away from him was frustrating Nathaniel more and more with each passing day.  At first guilt ate at him, though he knew there was no way around it.  And if challenged and pressed hard enough and by the right people, he might even admit he was just a little jealous of his wife and her success.  Which wasn’t to say he didn’t find himself amazed at her transformation.  She was sure.  Confident.  An undaunting leader in ways he’d not seen before.  He knew much of it came from how she presented herself, of course.  But, beneath the mask of duty she wore, Bryallyn was just as human and had the same emotional responses she always had.  Only after practice, she was much better at hiding certain aspects of it as necessary.  Even from him.  That wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily.  In fact, it was one of the first differences he’d picked up on after their reunion and it relieved him in many ways which were difficult for him to put into words.  

But aside from that and more than anything else, Nathaniel wanted to be there to give his wife his full support, whatever form that might take to meet her needs.  To be there to listen when she needed him.  To talk through an idea.  To have a blade or bow ready in whatever capacity she required for whatever cause she was taking on.  It was _here_ that he was beginning to have doubts creep in.  He was no Grey Warden.  Oh, he’d grown up on the stories of them like most children in Ferelden did.  Padric Howe, a distant relative on his father’s side, even joined their ranks at one point in time, though little about him after his departure was known.  Being a Warden was something to aspire to.  A sign of success and skill, perhaps, but also a goal of determination to reach.  Prior to Bryallyn’s joining their ranks, Nathaniel couldn’t say that he’d ever had any burning desire to be counted among the Grey Wardens’ ranks himself.  But now?

There were any number of reasons he could claim to support the desire to join.  Some were the right reasons, some were not.  He knew that.  But of them all, Nathaniel thought he finally had one that neither Bryallyn nor Riordan could argue with.  Only time would tell in that regard.

 

~ n ~

 

“Maker’s breath!”

Bryallyn crumpled into the nearby chair as the full impact of Riordan’s words hit her.  “There …  There is no other way?” she rasped, eyes lifting to search his face.

He shook his head.  “Now you understand why we go to battle with as many of our Warden brothers and sisters as we can.”

Bryallyn’s nod was jerky.  “We are only three, though!  How can we …  Oh no!”  A sharp ache sliced through her chest as realization came.  “Alistair has no idea!”

Sighing, Riordan nodded.  “I had hoped Duncan would inform you both --”

Her head shook back and forth.  “There was no time once we got to Ostagar,” she explained.  “I suspect he wanted to, but ….”

“Quite.  If it will ease your mind, my plan is to be the one to take the final blow myself,” he informed her.  “I’m sure that Alistair mentioned to you that Duncan had already been hearing his Calling?”

“Yes.”  Bryallyn sighed as understanding set in.  “You as well?”

He nodded.  “We Joined together, it does not surprise me,” he reminded her.  “However, if I do not make it to the archdemon in time, it will be up to you and Alistair to finish it.”

“I understand,” she replied after a long silence during which she struggled to swallow.

Minutes later, her thoughts were still scattered as she left Riordan and  headed to the room she was to share with Nathaniel.   _Nathaniel!_  Bryallyn paused in the hallway, her hand at the door handle, heart squeezing painfully in her chest.   _Oh, Maker, why?  Why now after separating us for so long?_  Tilting her head forward, she rested it against the wooden barrier.   _How do I tell him?  DO I tell him?_

The weight of an unexpected hand at her shoulder caused Bryallyn to jump, a yelp of shock and surprise slipping past her lips.

“Sweet Andraste, Bryallyn, it’s just me!” Nathaniel exclaimed.

Spinning around, her eyes met his briefly before she dove into his arms and held onto him tightly.

Frowning in concern, Nathaniel closed his arms around her, then awkwardly reached around to open the door and guide her inside.  “What’s wrong, love?” he asked, closing the door again behind them.

Bryallyn took a deep breath before forcing herself back a step and out of the comfort his closeness provided.  “It - it’s nothing,” she replied reluctantly after a moment.

Nathaniel could sense she was withholding something when she wouldn’t meet his eyes.  “Bry?”

Shaking her head, she whispered tightly, “Please don’t, Nathaniel.  You know there are some things -- Warden things -- I’m not at liberty to share with you.”

Opportunity, it was said, often opened doors when others were shut.  Nathaniel decided it was time to find out.  “Then make me a Warden,” he said simply.

Bryallyn’s head shot up, eyes wide with shock.  “Wh - what did you just say?”

“Make me a Warden,” he repeated.  “I know you need the help, Bry.  Only a Grey Warden can stop the Blight.  That’s been common knowledge for centuries.  Right now, we have a chance to stop this one before it gets fully started, but you are shorthanded.  Do whatever you need to, but make me a Warden so I can help you with that!”

Bryallyn’s throat worked convulsively even as she shook her head back and forth.  She barely felt the tears that leaked from her eyes, so horrorstruck was she at his suggestion.  “I - I _can’t_ ,” she pleaded desperately.  “Nathaniel, you … you have no idea what you are asking!”

Frustration hit its peak and Nathaniel reacted by removing and throwing one of his gauntlets across the room where it thudded heavily against the stone wall before dropping to the floor.  “Then tell me what I _can_ do,” he spat out, “because seeing you like this tears me apart!  You know I’m a capable fighter --”

“That isn’t it!” she cried back.  “Nathaniel, this is much more complicated than it appears!  And even if it wasn’t, there is the simple fact that I _can’t_ put you through the Joining for the simple fact that I don’t know _how_!”

Unaware of how her voice had risen to a near shout as she responded to her husband, the knock at the door followed by its opening came as a complete surprise to Bryallyn.  “Is there some trouble, Sister?” Riordan asked as he stepped inside the room.  His eyes immediately tracked over to Nathaniel.

“No,” Bryallyn replied, hand rising to press at her temple where a headache was beginning to form.  “I -”

But Nathaniel grabbed at this opportunity as well.  “I want to join the Grey Wardens.”

Bryallyn gasped.  “Nathaniel, no!”

Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed on her.  “By your own words, you _need more Wardens_ to defeat this Blight.  Why can you not accept me?”

Bryallyn turned away from both men, pulling her lower lip between her teeth as she did so.  While what she’d told him before was true -- she _didn’t_ know the process to perform the Joining rite -- she suspected Riordan did.

“Are you certain in your choice?” Riordan asked.

“I am,” Nathaniel replied firmly.

Bryallyn wondered if she might faint.

“Bryallyn?”

She glanced over at the senior Warden.  “Yes?”

“You have told him nothing?”

She shook her head.  “Nothing,” she confirmed.

Riordan looked back over at Nathaniel.  “There is more to being a Warden than fighting to end a Blight,” he said.  

“I will do it,” Nathaniel promised.  “I cannot put my reasons into words why this is so important to me, just that it is.”

Riordan glanced back over at Bryallyn.  “He volunteers.”

She nodded, ignoring fresh tears tracking down her cheeks.  “He does,” she whispered.  Then taking a deep breath, she managed one of the most difficult things she’d ever had to say in her lifetime.  “The choice is his to make.”

Riordan nodded and looked back over at Nathaniel.  “We can do this -”

“But how?” Bryallyn interjected.  “We have no -”

Riordan cut her off with a look.  “Give me your Warden’s Oath, Sister.”

“My oath?”  For a moment, Bryallyn was confused, but the words triggered the memory of two familiar faces after her own Joining, and the pendant she’d been given at that time.  A pendant that contained some of the liquid from her own Joining cup.

Nathaniel watched in curiosity as Bryallyn reached up to remove the amulet she wore.  He’d noticed it almost immediately upon their reunion, but never had a chance to ask her about it.  His curiosity continued as Riordan took the amulet in hand.  The elder Warden appeared to twist it somehow without breaking it in two, and after a moment, as Riordan lifted it again, Nathaniel saw tiny hinges where the top half folded back and exposed a small corked vial filled with a dark liquid.

Bryallyn moved up beside her husband and slipped her hand around his just as Riordan began to speak.  A moment later, her voice joined in with his.

_Join us, brothers and sisters.  Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant.  Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn._

Riordan handed the vial to Nathaniel and gestured that he should drink it.  Without hesitation, Nathaniel lifted it to his lips and poured the contents into his mouth.  He felt Bryallyn’s hand squeeze tightly around his.

_And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten.  And that one day, we shall join you …._

 

~ n ~

 

The darkness surrounding him was thick, almost viscous in the way it appeared to cling.  It was the type commonly found deep below ground, shadows shifting and changing all around him, hiding real numbers, muting the pounding of footsteps and clang of weapons and armor.  One moment it was completely foreign, and the next, all too familiar.  

_How…?_

Boundary edges were difficult to discern.  Everything was in motion and yet, not.  There were tiny flickering pricks of light numbering in the hundreds and thousands; torches that bobbed up and down with movement.  What shone through and penetrated the darkness was almost immediately swallowed back up by the shadows again.  Still, he caught sight of something vaguely recognizable just before the sensation of air, thick and hot from the deepest lava pits, flowed over tough skin and scales.  Weightlessness but with form and shape and speed.  Alone, but one of the many, the thousands upon thousands marching northward.   _That_ was where Destiny lay.  And with it, freedom ….

 

~ n ~

 

Nathaniel bolted upright with a loud groaning gasp, one hand clutching at his chest, the other still secure in Bryallyn’s.  As he struggled to breathe, he felt a squeeze and heard his wife whisper, “He lives!”   _Bryallyn!_

“He has passed the Joining,” Riordan agreed.

Blinking rapidly, Nathaniel’s eyes lifted.  “I … What _was_ that?”

“It’s a long story I can tell you later,” Bryallyn murmured.  “For now, however, know you are a Grey Warden.”  Her smile was a mixture of pride, relief, and fear, he noted.  “Welcome.”

“Thank you … I think.”  He accepted the hand Riordan offered and after the elder Warden assisted him to his feet, Nathaniel lifted it to press against his temple.

“Headache?  It will pass,” Riordan promised.

Nathaniel shook his head.  “Not a headache … a dream.”  He shuddered, the trembling rolling across broad shoulders.  “More a nightmare, really.”

“Joining during a Blight can cause intense visions,” Riordan agreed.  “And with the archdemon now on the move --”

“Archdemon!”  Nathaniel froze.  “Maker’s breath, _that’s_ what it was!”

Bryallyn’s head tilted.  “What was?  Your dream?”

He nodded.  “We were deep underground,” he explained.  “Moving en masse.  It was like flying and marching in vast numbers all at once, but they weren’t caves exactly, more like carved out tunnels decorated with dwarven architecture and runes ….”

Bryallyn froze, her eyes finding Riordan’s.  “The Deep Roads,” he told her with a nod.  “That is how they travel.  I’d heard they are as widespread as all of Thedas itself.”

“But to Denerim?” Bryallyn whispered. “I’ve never heard of any Deep Roads access there!”

“Neither have I,” Nathaniel agreed, “but I know there was a Deep Roads entrance somewhere in Gwaren, and if it can be found there, I suppose others can be found elsewhere.”

“In Orlais it has been known to happen,” Riordan told them.  “Old dwarven thaigs or a fissure in the land that connects to an old thaig trade route.  Before, they were simply collapsed and buried among the rubble for centuries, and then suddenly an opening appears to the surface.”

“Alistair has no idea what to expect or from what direction.”  Bryallyn shuddered.

“Get some rest,” Riordan advised.  “We will leave in the morning and travel as quickly as the horses will allow.”  He turned to leave them, presumably to do the same.

After Riordan’s departure, Nathaniel prepared for bed himself, his thoughts still turning over what he could recall from his vision in case there was anything else useful.  Crawling in beside his wife a short while later, he murmured, “I suppose now you can tell me what was troubling you earlier?”

Bryallyn sighed.  “I can, but it will take time.  And,” she added, “you likely will not thank me for it, either.”

“I did not make this choice lightly,” he told her.

“I know.”

 


	107. Desperate Measures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As stated previously, this is the last ready chapter I have going into April’s Camp Nano. All things being equal, I hope to finish writing this story in the next month, then start posting those chapters come May. We’ll see how that goes. Real life, obviously, comes first and Mom’s health isn’t the greatest at the moment. Plus, I have a high school senior who will be graduating in two months. (EEK!) Bring on the insanity! :P In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

If he was completely honest with himself, which he was nearly one hundred percent of the time because he could not lie to save his life, Alistair would admit he was surprised by the quickness and efficiency with which the evacuation of Denerim was handled.  Once she had the mission in hand, Delilah supervised spectacularly, with a grace and skill that left Alistair nearly breathless in wonder.  Word was sent out throughout the city by subject and soldier alike until all who remained were notified.  Opportunity for those who wished to leave but had no means of transport was made.  For those who had no idea where to turn, direction was given.  The king promised armed escort to make certain neither friend nor foe took undue advantage, which also eased some minds.  The end result of it all was that within twenty-four hours, a caravan of Denerim inhabitants departed the city and headed northwards towards the Coastlands.

“Maker go with you,” Alistair murmured to Delilah as he assisted her up into the cart from which she would lead the caravan.  He then flashed her a quick grin.  “I wouldn’t want to have to explain to your brother why you ended up injured or lost …”

Delilah’s brow arched, but there was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.  “Or without pants?” she teased.

Alistair groaned.  “Bryallyn told you, did she?”

Chuckling, Delilah reached out to touch his hand briefly with hers in an affectionate gesture.  “She might have mentioned it,” she allowed.  Next to her, Ceila was climbing up and settling into the seat.  Behind her, Chelle sat holding Bryce in her lap next to a family and several orphan children.  “We will be fine,” she told Alistair as she turned back to face him.  “Fergus will lead us to this camp -- it’s a place he and his family often used when traveling between Highever to Denerim, he told me -- and then he, Kayt and several of your armed contingent will return to assist with the defense of the city.”

“I think I would rather they stayed to protect you,” he told her with brutal honesty.  “But I can’t argue that having them on our side will be helpful.”

Delilah smiled.  “I’d like to see you successfully convince Fergus not to return.  I know I’ve heard him and Kayt discussing it.”

Alistair frowned.  “I think that might have more to do with Kayt.  Still, she is a ranger, like Bryallyn, and I will be thankful to have her skills available.”

A shout from the end of the line worked its way forward to indicate everything was ready to go, and Delilah sighed.  After taking one long look around the surrounding area, her eyes met his again.  “Come find me when this is over,” she told him soberly.  “I will watch for you.”

Alistair reached up to stroke a finger along her cheek.  “I will be leading the way, my dear.  Depend upon it.”

He took a step back from the cart and Delilah picked up the reins.  Ahead of her, several of the armed troops Alistair was sending with them headed out and cleared the path and Delilah shook the reins to get them moving.  She focused her gaze ahead of her, though she would much rather have kept them upon the king, just in case this ended badly and she only had these memories to sustain her for the rest of her life.  

“You are a strong lass,” Ceila murmured from beside her as they cleared the city gates, turning out onto the main road.  “I think he admires that in you.”

Delilah felt a secret smile tug at her lips.  “I think he admires a little bit more than that, don’t you?” she teased back.

The mage chuckled heartily, a sound that helped ease the ache in Delilah’s heart just then.  “I should hope so!”

 

~ n ~

 

Though they left early, the journey took the better part of a day and brought them into the open camp late in the afternoon.  The travel had not been without its difficulties, but those were minor and there had been no attempts upon them by bandits, darkspawn or any other adversary, which was a relief.  Upon their arrival, Fergus gave Delilah, Ceila and several of the others, including the armed soldiers who would be remaining, a quick tour of the area, pointing out the necessities.  A small river ran nearby for water and cleaning and decent fishing.  Northwards was a good area for hunting game.  All in all, it was a decent area that should sustain them easily for a week or two at most.

Fergus led Delilah back into the center of the camp afterwards.  “Delilah, I need to ask a favor of you.”

Delilah glanced up at him.  “Name it,” she told him simply.  When he looked surprise, she added in explanation, “You and I have come too far together, Fergus.  You are as much a brother to me as Nathaniel.”

His smile spoke of relief, but also of trust and love.  She knew for him it was a large step to take after the events at Highever the previous year, especially since it had been her father behind it, and for that it was all the sweeter.  He reached a hand between his chest and the armored plate over it, pulling out a folded piece of parchment a moment later.  “Should the worst happen,” he said quietly as he handed it over to her, “will you please see that Bryallyn or Nate gets that?”

She bit her lip, but took it and tucked it safely into a pouch at her waist.  “Fergus --”

He looked away, into the distance, while telling her, “Basically, it requests that if anything happens to me, they find some way to take care of Highever until ….”  He turned back towards her, his eyes finding hers.  Then more quietly, “It’s also a request they look after Kayt and our child she carries until he or she is old enough to rule.”

Delilah’s eyes widened, surprise lighting them.  Her eyes drifted over to Kayt, standing on the far side of the camp with the soldiers who would be returning to Denerim, then back to Fergus.  It wasn’t difficult to determine where his thoughts were probably centered just then and why.  “No matter what happens,” she promised, “I will see that it’s done, Fergus.  You have my word.”

“Thank you.”  His eyes closed and he breathed deeply for a moment.  When they opened again, he managed a small smile.  “We should be going.  The darkspawn will likely arrive before we do, but we have to try to make it back in time.”

Delilah nodded.  “Maker watch over you, Fergus,” she told him softly.

Fergus reached out and pulled her into a brief hug, whispering, “May He watch over us all.”

Delilah watched him turn to join the others.  Kayt’s gaze drifted over for a moment before she nodded once and Delilah returned it.  The Maker was going to have his hands full this day, to be sure.

 

~ n ~

 

Though about half the soldiers sent on the journey with them returned with Fergus and Kayt to Denerim, there was still a goodly number assigned to remain and Delilah’s first order of business was to meet with them and discuss the security of the camp.  Once that was arranged and a watch schedule set, she turned her focus back to helping the refugees settle in with as little difficulty as possible.  Exhaustion was quick to move in, but she fought her way through to the end, partly and in no small thanks due to Ceila’s watchful eye.  

“You need rest,” Ceila commented when Delilah finally found her way beside the campfire and sank to the ground.  Chelle sat nearby, and when Delilah reached for him, handed over Bryce to his aunt.  

“I will be fine,” Delilah insisted, cuddling the sleepy infant to her.  She found solace in rocking him back and forth, humming softly as she did so.  He seemed to like it too, falling asleep quickly in her arms.

“Wearing yourself out will do none of us any good.”  

Delilah sighed.  “Sleep now is not a good idea,” she replied.  In truth, she was more concerned about nightmares stalking her as she did so, and with everyone else off fighting against the darkspawn, an overactive imagination would have a field day.  With Nathaniel and Bryallyn down at Redcliffe and Alistair and Fergus and many of the others in Denerim, she had no doubts those she cared most about would be facing the darkspawn.  She’d even heard a passing rumor, just before the call to evacuate came, that her brother Thomas had shown his face in Denerim, presumably to aid in the fight.  And while she wanted to be with them in that confrontation, she knew she’d be more of a help here, aiding those who could not protect themselves.  Alistair wasn’t incorrect when he called on her for this duty because of her past experience.

“ _Dareth’asha_.”

Delilah glanced up as Shaessa approached.  Smiling, she invited the dalish and her brother to join them.  They, too, had wished to remain in Denerim for the battle to come, if only to fight side by side with those they helped train in the alienage, but Delilah had asked they join her.  She could have done this alone, but with them along she had a better chance of success.  “What is it?”

“A scouting patrol has spotted another wave of refugees approaching,” Taerian announced.  Both he and his sister sat down at the fire to warm themselves, gratefully accepting the cups of broth Ceila handed their way.  

Delilah sighed and frowned.  Everyone from Denerim was accounted for, weren’t they?  “From which direction?” she asked, wondering if some had fled the city after them once they witnessed the caravan leaving.

“East,” Shaessa announced.  

Delilah froze.   _East_.  She knew the geography of the country well enough to realize that they bordered Amaranthine lands where they were currently camped.  Had the rumors been wrong?  Had Thomas remained at Vigil’s Keep and was now sending forces to intercept them while disguised as refugees?  “How many and how soon will they arrive?”

“A good number,” Taerian replied which was his way of saying more than an average sized group.  “They move slowly, as refugees would.  They should arrive soon.”

“Warn the soldiers on the watch for their approach.  If indeed they are refugees, we will take them in, but tell them to be on guard just in case it’s a deception of some sort.”

Shaessa nodded, passing her cup back to Ceila and rising.  “It will be done,” she promised.  Taerian rose and followed after her.  

“Maker’s breath,” Delilah breathed, glancing down at Bryce who still slept in her arms.  

“You think it a ruse?” Chelle asked.  

“I don’t know,” Delilah admitted, “but I can’t rule that out.  I’d heard my brother and his troops were headed to Denerim, but I suppose it could have just been a rumor meant to deceive us from their real intent.”

“Or it could be refugees from Amaranthine,” Ceila pointed out.

“I cannot discount that, either.”

“Where do you want me?” Chelle asked.  “I am a trained fighter, you know this, but I will abide by your decision.”

Delilah smiled her thanks.  “I would appreciate it if you watched over my nephew,” she replied honestly.  “That way I will know he is safe and I can focus on what happens next.”

Chelle bowed her head, rising and reaching for the sleeping child.  “As you wish,” she replied before taking Bryce with her and retreating into a tent nearby.

Ceila eyed Delilah.  “You think it as bad as that?”

“I hope not,” Delilah breathed, pushing herself to her feet.  “I sincerely hope not.”

 

~ n ~

 

Delilah was ready when the first whispers of the approaching group began to spread across the camp.  Their armed contingent were aware of their approach, and all were currently on duty should they be needed.  Delilah changed into the leather armor her brother insisted she wear when they were out and about in Denerim and she had her bow at the ready even as she moved to join the others at the main entrance.  Her arrival came just in time.

Hurried but light footsteps raced towards the camp in the dark.  “ _Dareth’asha!_ ”  

Delilah recognized Shaessa’s voice.  “Be at the ready,” she murmured to the soldiers as Shaessa broke into visual range and moved to Delilah’s side.

Within moments, the sounds of footsteps approaching in great numbers began to bristle through the night air.  Rustling of brush and the crunching of leaves under foot.  The squeaky wheels of a cart.  

Delilah stepped forward, ahead of the rest since it was she to whom they all turned, and she called out, “Identify yourselves.”

Hushed voices too distant to understand rumbled briefly as all movement beyond came to a halt.  After a moment, a pair of steps started up once again.  And with it, a familiar voice.

“The _Wending Wild_ are at your service, _Dareth’asha_.”

Delilah nearly collapsed with relief, signalling the soldiers to stand down.  “Galen!”

With a chuckle, the young man stepped into visual range.  “We heard rumors of your flight from the city,” he announced as he approached, eyes looking beyond her and taking note of numbers, location, situations.  “It was time for us to move on as well, so we thought to join up with you here.”

Delilah blinked.  “Move on?” she asked.

He nodded.  “Some darkspawn incursions,” he explained.  “Not the horde, but enough to convince us it was time to leave.”

Delilah grimaced.  “How many did we lose?”

“Two,” he informed her as Shaessa and Taerian went out to guide the rest into the camp.  “Fret not, my lady,” he told her.  “Though they came sooner than we’d hoped, we were prepared.  Tomil, Sanderson and some of your brother’s companions and I had this plan prepared before they joined you in Denerim.  It was simply a matter of execution.”

Taking a deep breath, Delilah nodded.  She turned and gestured to the camp as a whole.  “I hope we have room enough for you here,” she told him.  “If the Maker is watching over us, it should be only for a short while.  If not ….”

Galen nodded.  “I understand, my lady,” he told her.  “And if you wish it, I can continue on as I did before?”

She smiled.  “If it isn’t too much to ask?  This is a considerably larger group than the _Wild_ were even at full strength!”

He grinned.  “I learned much from you, my lady, and I have been training others to help in your absence.”  He turned and looked at her fully, nodding when Ceila joined them.  “You look as if you could use a good rest.  Let me handle this.  We will be blended in among the rest before you awaken, never fear.”

“He is right, child,” Ceila murmured.  “You need your rest.”

“Alright,” she replied even as a yawn caught her off guard.  “Just --”

“All will be taken care of, I promise,” Galen told her.  “I will not fail you.”

Her eyes met his and she managed a grateful smile as she lifted her hand to his shoulder and squeezed.  “I know.”

 


	108. The Face of Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience with me on this story.  I managed to get one chapter written for Camp Nano for this piece.  Sadly, my mother lost her battle with cancer in the first week of the month, so my focus was elsewhere the remainder of the time as you can imagine.  At this point, muses are still lurking and poking, but Bryallyn’s group has been silent.  I will get back to them as soon as I can stir them up a little, I promise!
> 
> In the meantime, here is the one chapter I managed.  Onward!!!

 

“We have guards set at the gates and along the walls of the city keeping close watch,” Teagan announced.  “The troops are prepared for when the attack comes.”

From the front steps of the Royal Palace, Alistair stared out in the direction of the city walls in the distance.  “No one is ever fully prepared for the darkspawn,” he replied, absently tugging at his left gauntlet.   _It’s going to come down to this_ , he mused silently.   _If we can’t stop them here, the Blight will spread across Thedas.  We HAVE to stop them here._  Sighing, his gaze broke and he turned towards his uncle.  “Where’s Oghren?”

“Your dwarf friend is at the main gate with some of my men,” the bann offered.  “He thought, and I concurred, that with their combined experience, they would have the best chance of seeing and stopping the darkspawn at their earliest approach.”

As brash and coarse as the dwarf could be, Alistair recognized that he did have some sense and leadership capabilities when it came to fighting, especially against darkspawn.   _Or, maybe it’s just a good sense of self-preservation_.  “Good idea.”  It wouldn’t hurt, and at this point it might even offer a morale boost for the less experienced fighters.  It was common enough knowledge that the dwarves faced threat from the darkspawn on a daily basis.  Who better to encourage them now?  “How about the Templars?”  Though Bryallyn had enlisted the mages of the Circle to assist in this battle, the few Templars from the Chantry who remained after the evacuation of the brothers and sisters in Denerim -- including the grand cleric -- offered their skills for the coming battle.  Alistair had quickly, and gratefully, accepted the aid.

“At Wynne’s suggestion,” Teagan explained, “I split their numbers.  Some are with the mage representatives from the Tower to help protect them from the darkspawn while the rest are spread out among the less experienced troops.”  He paused for a moment and glanced over at Alistair before clearing his throat.  “Your, erm, mage friend --”

Alistair scowled darkly, understanding coming with Teagan’s hesitancy.  “Morrigan is hardly my friend,” he muttered.

Teagan nodded.  “I understand.  She as well as the rest of your traveling companions who remained in Denerim are near the city gates.”  Stepping beside Alistair, his head swiveled towards the king.  “Do you wish to join them?”

Alistair nodded.  Thankfully, it didn’t seem as if Teagan would try to stop him from participating in the coming battle.  Whether that was due to his reassurances that Alistair could end the Blight once and for all, seemingly by himself, or that he had a healthy respect for Alistair’s abilities now that he was fully grown and trained, the new king had no idea.  Whatever the case, it was one less argument he’d have to fight which was good.  

Starting down the steps of the palace, Alistair responded reasonably, “We’ve come this far, we might as well finish it together.”  A few of Teagan’s men who had been assigned as temporary bodyguards for him fell into step around them.  “Come on, uncle.  I suppose I should go give them a speech or something.”

Teagan chuckled softly, attempting, albeit badly, to hide the sound behind a cough.  “As you wish, Your Majesty.”  

 

~ n ~

 

The return journey to Denerim took forever as far as Bryallyn was concerned.  They made good time during the days, pushing the horses as hard as they dared in an effort to close the distance as quickly as possible, but no matter how they tried, it always seemed it wasn’t enough.  Their journey back took them through the Hinterlands on the Imperial Highway, passing north through the Brecilian Forest.  Though they’d opted for the safer route on the way south, their return required whatever shortcuts they could manage.  It didn’t take long for Bryallyn to recognize how much had changed in the short time since their last passage through the area.  The land was so blighted now even finding a camping site for the night became a challenge.  There were times they had to continue for miles beyond their intended stopping point simply to find a place safe enough for the evening.  The villages and towns they passed were empty, devoid of everything but the creeping, cloying grasp of the Taint.  They were no signs of anything left untouched.  Empty buildings, barren fields, withered plants and blighted animals as far as the eyes could see.

And then there were the dreams.

Nathaniel’s vision notwithstanding, the closer they drew to Denerim, the more vivid the dreams the three Wardens in the group became.  Along with that, an increased sense of urgency which they used to drive the group forward.  At one point on the journey, just south of Dragon’s Peak and still a long and hard day’s ride from the city, Bryallyn awoke with her heart in her throat and believing the archdemon knew _exactly_ what their plan was.  It was disheartening to say the least.

Along the way, Bryallyn took the time to share with Nathaniel exactly what he could expect now that he was a Warden.  All things considered, he took the news well, though she was quick to note at night he would hold her much more closely and tightly when they slept.  He was practical and committed enough to realize there was no turning back, she never doubted that for a moment, but a part of her ached that she couldn’t have at least warned him what was to come.  Still, content that he now at least understood all that she faced as a Warden, the tension between them seemed to have eased.  If they could both make it through this battle alive, that offered a hope for their future together.

Topping the last rise along the Imperial Highway that descended into capital city below them, it became quite clear by sight as well as sound that the battle had begun.  The sound of quick hoofbeats brought Riordan up to her other side, and all three Wardens surveyed the city below.  

“I see no sign of the archdemon yet,” Bryallyn told him, “but I know it’s here.”

“The fighting looks worse near the city center,” Nathaniel observed.  Using his hand, he pointed to an area in the general vicinity of Fort Drakon where it looked as if a large part of the area was afire.  “My guess would be the Deep Roads access is there.”

Riordan nodded.  “A good guess, I believe,” he agreed.  He gestured his hand along an area near the city gates.  “Wherever they are coming from, it looks as if our friends have quite the battle on their hands.  It has already spread throughout the city.  Let us start by helping them.  Once we secure the gates, we can then decide our next course of action.”

Turning to look back over her shoulder, Bryallyn shouted loudly so all of Eamon’s men at the rear of their column could hear, “To the gates!  The battle has begun!”

Riding in at full speed on a horse was a bit of a challenge, especially once they began encountering debris and other obstacles, and more than once Bryallyn was nearly tossed by her mount.  Still, she made it inside the walls of the city where she was able to jump free of the beast.  She reached for her bow and started taking aim even as Constant ran up to her side, taking his usual place beside her and doing his best to keep her safe as she called for further reinforcements.

Nathaniel followed a similar procedure, vaulting free of his mount further inside the gates and landing among a group of darkspawn terrorizing a small squad of soldiers.  Releasing one arrow after another with pinpoint precision, he helped clear the area.  “Where is the king?” he asked afterwards.

“Over th-there, m’Lord,” one of the soldiers told him, lifting his hand and pointing yet further in.

Nathaniel turned on his heel, eyes searching the mass of bodies and movement for several moments and then finding the man.  His current battle consisted of two genlocks, though from his vantage point Nathaniel could see a third moving up from behind.  Reacting without conscious thought, he nocked an arrow and shot it into the neck of the would be assailant.  The missile flew right by Alistair’s head, and for a moment Nathaniel wondered if the king thought he might have been attacking him.  Their eyes met and Alistair nodded his thanks before smashing his shield into the face of one of the genlocks with which he was still engaged.

The battle raged on for what seemed like hours.  Bryallyn and Constant and two wolf companions called from the forests outside the city walls formed a small squad of their own and they did what they could to ease the burden, particularly for the untried troops among the ranks.  When finally the numbers of darkspawn decreased such that she could pause for a moment’s breath, she turned to scan the field.  Finding the others gathering, she hurried over to join them.  

“ _There_ you are!”

Smiling, Bryallyn nodded at her fellow Warden as she joined him.  Nathaniel, she saw, was already there.  “Here I am,” she agreed.  

“I was hoping you would make it back in time,” Alistair told her.  There was a graveness underlying his tone that no amount of humor could fully hide, but Bryallyn smiled as he tried.  “No sense in _me_ having all the fun.”

Bryallyn laughed.  No one but he had ever been able to put her so at ease during times filled with such tension.  Not even her husband.  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she replied dryly.  “Speaking of dreams ….”

Alistair nodded.  “Nathaniel was telling me of the vision he had,” he said.  “I never knew there was Deep Roads access in Denerim, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.  Not after what we’ve seen during our travels.”

Sighing, Bryallyn shook her head.  “Assuming we survive this, we may want to consider surveying all of Ferelden at some point,” she told him.  “Just so we won’t ever be surprised like this again.”

Alistair winked at her.  “Slam the proverbial door shut in their faces?  I like that idea.”

Her lips curved into a smile.  “That, too.”

“How would we even do that?” Nathaniel asked.

Bryallyn sighed softly, hand rising to rub at her temples.  An ache was beginning to form there, soft, subtle, but ever increasing in strength and force.  “The dwarves,” she murmured.  “They deal with this on a constant basis.  They must have some ideas.”

“I overheard Oghren mentioning something about that,” Alistair offered, his eyes searching around for their companion.  The corners of his eyes tightened sharply as an unexpected pain sliced behind his eyes, and he couldn’t hold back a grunt of discomfort and pain.  “What …?”

Nathaniel, too, grunted.  His hand moved to pinch the bridge of his nose in an effort to find a way to ease the intensity of the pain.

Hurried footsteps joined them moments later.  “The archdemon,” Riordan rasped.  “She has arrived!”

Even before his words escaped, a loud roar mixed with the familiar sound of leathery flapping wings echoed around them and the rest of the troops.  Bryallyn’s eyes were drawn immediately to the shape of the dragon as it circled above them.  Sleek and beautiful in its own way, she also recognized that the end of their journey was now within their grasp.  It would only be a matter of time and who.

“And I thought we left this party behind at Haven,” Alistair muttered to Bryallyn.

“She heads to the highest point in the city from which to guide the battle,” Riordan observed, his eyes trailing after the creature.  

“Fort Drakon,” Bryallyn, Nathaniel and Alistair observed in unison.  

In the distance, they saw the creature land.  “So it would seem,” Riordan agreed.  His hands reached for his dual blades.  Pulling them free, he turned to give each of his fellow Wardens a long, hard look.  “This duty is mine to perform,” he said, “but there is a chance I -- or any of us -- might fail.”

Bryallyn nodded.  “We know what must be done,” she assured him.  

“As do I,” Alistair interjected.  Startled when the other three turned towards him in surprise, he replied defensively, “What?  You didn’t think Morrigan came along just to help us fight, did you?”

Bryallyn’s eyes widened.  “Morrigan knows?” she gasped.

Alistair nodded.  “After what we encountered with Flemeth, is it really that much of a surprise?”

“I --”  Bryallyn snorted softly and shook her head.  “No.  No, I don’t suppose it is.”

“Whatever happens,” Riordan told them, “it must be one of us who kills the archdemon.  If I cannot, one of you must take up the challenge.”

“We will,” Nathaniel replied solemnly.  His gaze sought Bryallyn’s and held it for a long moment.  They both knew good and well the possible outcomes of this battle; they both were as prepared as they could be for it.  Nodding, he saw her echo the movement.  “The Blight will end here.  Now.  We will _not_ let it go beyond Ferelden.”

Bryallyn’s gaze returned to the archdemon in the distance.  “We will separate,” she said.  “Each of us will lead our own team.  Riordan, you lead the way.  I will follow behind through the Market District.”  She returned her eyes to them.  “I want to see that the city elves are safe.”

“I did my best to convince them to evacuate,” Alistair told her, “but Shianni insisted that they would stand their ground and hold out.”  He shrugged.  “It’s the only home they know.”

“Are Shaessa and Taerian with them?”

He shook his head.  “They went with Delilah and those civilians who fled the city,” he explained.  “Fergus and Kayt led them to a safe place to the … north?”  He frowned.  “Your brother said it was a place the Couslands often used during their travels to and from Denerim.”

Bryallyn nodded.  “I think I know which one you mean.”

“Fergus said he and Kayt and those few soldiers who traveled with them would return, but I haven’t seen them yet.”

“They will come,” Bryallyn returned.  “Fergus will see to that.”  Looking up at Alistair, she added, “As for you …”

Their eyes met.  “Don’t you even think of trying to keep me out of this battle,” he told her.

“I won’t,” she promised, “but I will ask that you remain here to defend the gates.”

A hurt expression filled his eyes.  “But --”

Lifting a hand in peace, she clarified, “You will be the last line of defense we have, Alistair.  If none of us,” she gestured to herself, Nathaniel and Riordan, “can get to the archdemon, you will be the only hope we have.”

His eyes closed, a soft sound of protest forming at his lips, but in the end he nodded.  “I … understand,” he replied after a minute.  “I don’t like it, but I understand and, reluctantly, agree.”

Turning back towards her husband, Bryallyn said, “Choose your team and meet me over there.”  She pointed at the archway over the street leading to the Market District.  “We’ll start out together, but split when we get to the Alienage.  Maybe one of our groups can flank the archdemon if the other is spotted.”

Nathaniel nodded, turning away.

“I will go,” Riordan interjected.  “Follow as soon as you can.”  A loud, bellowing roar from the archdemon echoed around them.  “Time is of the essence now.”

Nodding, Bryallyn replied, “We will meet you there.”

 

~ n ~

 

It didn’t take Nathaniel long to find Trinion and Rhyan and bring them up to date.  

“So,” Rhyan mused softly and Nathaniel noticed a more serious presence about her, “it all comes down to this.”

Nodding, he insisted, “We must stop the Blight here.  You know your history as well as I, Rhyan.  If we do not succeed here, it will encompass all of Thedas over the years to come and the devastation and destruction ....”

“I know, I know.”  Her eyes closed for a brief moment before popping back open.  “You just _had_ to go make yourself a Warden, didn’t you?”

Nathaniel felt a tug at the corner of his lips.  During their years of training, they had always done everything together.  It appeared she was now disappointed he had moved ahead while she remained behind.  “Trust me when I tell you that it is a decision I do not regret, but one that you are much better off not having to make,” he told her.  Turning towards Trinion, he asked, “Are you ready?”

“I am, My Lord,” he replied.  “As are the others.  Who will you take with you?”

Nathaniel scratched the stubble on his chin.  “You, Grayson,” his eyes drifted towards where the rest of their group gathered.  He wished Fergus was here to consult, but it seemed his brother would not return before the battle engaged in full.  “Gryffyd,” he concluded.  “Rhy, I want you and the others to remain here.  Help the king as you can and watch for Fergus to return.  I have no doubt the darkspawn will return here and in greater numbers.”  Though he’d not been able to determine a precise count in his vision, he knew they were greater than what had already been faced.  

Rhyan’s eyes flared up, anger rising in their depths, but she surprised Nathaniel by simply nodding in response to his request.  For once, she didn’t try to protest.  “As you wish,” she finally managed.

His smile widened a fraction.  “Thank you,” he murmured.  “I know what that cost you.”

Her eyes softened to something close to humor as she teased, “You can make it up to me later.”

Turning back to Trinion, he instructed, “Get the others and meet me over there.”  He pointed out the rendezvous location Bryallyn had given him.  “I will go and find my wife.”

When Nathaniel walked over to Bryallyn, he found her with a smaller group of her companions -- Wynne, Leliana and the Qunari, Sten -- as well as Constant.  “Are you ready?” she asked.

Nathaniel nodded.  “Trinion is fetching the others as we speak,” he explained.

“Good.  We will head through the Market District.  Once we get to the far side, I want you and your team to continue on -- head south through the docks and cut across the lower portion of the city, south of the Royal Palace and the Arl of Denerim’s estate.  We will cut through the Alienage and attempt to do the same on the northern side.  Hopefully, one of our groups will be able to make it through,” Bryallyn said.  Her eyes drifted up to his and held.  “Perhaps even both.”  It was the closest to an optimistic outlook she could provide just then.

“I have faith that we will,” he replied quietly.

Trinion, Grayson and Gryffyd walked up to them and Bryallyn nodded a quick greeting at the men.  “You are ready?” she asked Trinion.

The Highever man nodded.  “Aye, My Lady, we are.”

“Let’s go.”

 


	109. Battle Cry (of Freedom)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your patience with me and the end of this story!  I made it through July’s Camp Nano and, yes!, the story is now complete!!!!!  I should make my self imposed deadline of the original publication date (October 8) with a few days to spare.  
> 
> That being said, I have several potential follow up stories to this one, and one is already in the plotting/planning stage.  Depending on reception and how cooperative the brain is, they have a good chance of being written -- just hopefully not taking 7 years for each one! :D
> 
> Again, thank you to all my readers for hanging in there with me!  This has been a wonderful story to share and I appreciate each and every one of you who has taken the time to read.  Enjoy the finall installment!
> 
> And thanks as always to my intrepid beta, Erynnar, without whom I would never have made it through!

 

The fight through the Market District wasn’t an easy one.  Then again, no one in Denerim in that moment, least of all Bryallyn, expected it would be.  Walking into it as they were, she and the others were well aware that this was it -- the final showdown.  Whatever resources the archdemon had readily available to throw at them would be used.  Hurlocks, genlocks, shrieks, emissaries, alphas and omegas.  All shapes and sizes and levels of ability and preparedness were represented.  It was going to be one hell of a battle.

One that also included ogres, they discovered in rather abrupt and numerous fashion.  From the moment they stepped into the District, the giant brutes began to appear one after another after another.  No sooner was one down than the next would appear, and sometime they wouldn’t wait for that.  It was as difficult a challenge as any they’d faced since Ostagar. If they hadn’t seen them almost from the first, they would have felt the ground rumbling beneath their feet, but even knowing what it was still triggered anxiety even within a seasoned fighter.  

It didn’t help that the battlefield itself seemed against them as well.  They found, upon arrival, most of the District in ruins.  The buildings in the central market area were demolished, fallen piles of rubble and debris.  What remained upright didn’t appear to be long for that condition.  And all of it, no matter its current state, on fire.  That presented additional problems as they fought their way around and, sometime, through the mess.  Mounds of boards that appeared solid would dissolve to ash the moment touched, shifting and tumbling around them and adding more difficulty to an already extreme problem.  

They were barely a few steps into the District when the first of the beasts charged.  Immediately, Bryallyn instructed Wynne, “Stay safe, but please do what you can to keep us in fighting condition.  We will no doubt have a more difficult challenge facing us at Fort Drakon.  And don’t forget,” she added with a tight but affectionate smile, “we will need you there as well.”

“I understand,” Wynne promised.  

Nathaniel dispatched Gryffyd with a nod in Wynne’s direction.  The fighter returned the acknowledgement and moved into a defensive position.  He might not be a Templar, but he would do his best to keep Wynne safe.  For all their sakes.

The loud bellowing battle cry of an ogre reverberated in the air around them, breaking off any further discussion and pulling them into the fight of their lives.  

Gritting her teeth and blocking past memories of battles and injuries, successes and failures at these creatures’ hands, Bryallyn resorted to any and all available methods to bring them down.  Desperate times called for desperate measures, and though risky, she could take some comfort in the fact she wasn’t alone.  Though used to having all of her companions present during the battle, especially additional warriors such as Alistair and Oghren, Bryallyn made use of what she had available now.  It would have to do.

The Warden and her fellow rogues -- Leliana, Nathaniel and Grayson -- utilized what advantage they could gain from the terrain and created opportunities whenever they could.  Leliana pulled herself up the side of one burning building so she could launch herself onto the back of one of the ogres while Trinion and Constant hounded it from ground level.  Grayson scrambled over a pile of nearby debris and did something similar as Sten and Bryallyn’s wolf companions faced off against another.  Bryallyn from one side and Nathaniel from nearby both managed to gain height advantage from the rooftop of the  _ Gnawed Noble Tavern _ , still relatively stable and currently not on fire, and rained a continuous fire of arrows at whichever targets required their attentions most.  Wynne, true to her promise and with the protection of Gryffyd kept them all hale and whole until they brought the first pair down.

The first two went down after Maker knew how long of a fight, but there was barely a moment to catch a deep breath before another showed its face.  And a second.  Then a third.

Minutes passed, hours perhaps, but they finally brought down the last one.  By the end of it, Bryallyn had lost count of how many they’d faced.  First order of business was to assess the damage to her team.  One of her wolf companions went down early leaving her more short handed than she would have liked, though the other remained until almost the end.  It saddened her to lose them, but Bryallyn understood they’d given their best, and their efforts were not in vain.  Still, it left her without reinforcement in a situation where further resources from which to pull would be few and far between, if any.  Focusing on her companions, she found the others were roughed up some, but thanks to Wynne’s constant attention they were still in good fighting condition.

“That’s the last of them.  Eleven by my count,” Nathaniel announced, walking over to join her.  

They stood near the Chantry, and though she was listening, Bryallyn’s eyes were caught by the utter devastation the city already faced.  Buildings were down all over, stone and wood mangled together.  Fires charred what little fuel still remained into piles of ash.  Across the way, Eamon’s estate, though severely damaged, might be salvageable, but that was about the only bright spot that she could see within range.  Even the Chantry behind her looked well beyond repair.

In the distance the shouts and clangs of more fighting rose above the silence surrounding them, but for the moment there was no immediate threat in their vicinity.  Turning to her husband, Bryallyn nodded acknowledgement of his assessment.  “Take your men and approach Fort Drakon from southern route,” she told him, pointing in the direction intended.  “We will follow via the north side after we check on the alienage.”  Sighing softly, she focused her gaze on him.  “We’ll catch up with you at Fort Drakon if not before.”

Leaning over, Nathaniel pressed a quick kiss to her lips.  “We will meet you there,” he promised.

Bryallyn’s gaze followed after him for a long moment as they departed around a corner.  At her side, Constant made a sound.  Dropping her gaze to the hound, she found the him tilting his head up at her in question.  Smiling, she dropped a hand to pat the top of his head and scratch behind an ear.  “He will make it,” she promised.  She believed it.  She  _ had _ to.  “Right then, let’s go.”

 

~ n ~

 

“The Maker sure gave you the gift of good timing, didn’t He?”

Bryallyn bit back a chuckle.  Now was hardly the time for laughter, but there was something about the young city elf that sparked the reaction.  Perhaps it was her fighting spirit, or maybe just plain old spunk, but whatever it was gave Bryallyn a momentary positive burst of energy.  “I’m guessing you’ll be glad of our help?” she asked, following Shianni into the central part of the alienage.

Shianni nodded.  “There’s a large group of darkspawn approaching the southern gates,” she explained.  She gave Bryallyn a steady, determined look.  “The gates won’t hold against them, you know that.”

Bryallyn nodded.  “That’s why we came,” she assured the elf.  She made no comment on Shianni’s or the other elves’ decisions to stay -- while it would have been easier for everyone if they’d evacuated with the other civilians led by Delilah, Bryallyn could understand their reluctance to stay and fight for their home.  It was more than she’d been able to do the night Highever was attacked.  She wouldn’t discredit them for that.  “We will do what we can.  Our ultimate destination is Fort Drakon, though.  Can you face what might come after we leave?”

Shianni nodded.  “I think so.  If you take out the worst of it, we’ll find a way to make do.”

Bryallyn surveyed the other elves standing behind Shianni.  It was more than clear she was speaking for all of them.  “If it gets to be too much for you, retreat to the city gates,” she instructed.  “You remember my fellow Warden, Alistair, yes?”  Shianni nodded.  “He and the remaining soldiers are holding the gates there.  They will provide what protection they can.”

Shianni’s eyes darkened briefly and Bryallyn saw a scowl starting to form, but to the woman’s credit, she fought it off.  “Only as a last resort,” she murmured.

Nodding, Bryallyn added quietly, “I understand.  You will lead your people well, Shianni, but don’t let pride keep you from that.  Go to him if necessary.  Trust me, he will see you safe.”

The splintering crack and crash of wood being torn from hinges and broken into pieces sounded in the distance.

“It would seem the darkspawn have arrived,” Sten announced, turning in that direction and stalking towards it.  Leliana and Wynne followed after him.  

Bryallyn paused a moment longer as the alienage elves, led by Shianni, began to scatter.  Giving the elf one more nod of encouragement and reassurance, Bryallyn turned.  Focusing her concentration, she sent out a call to whatever creatures might yet remain within range that could offer assistance.  Her hope was for one or two of the city’s dog population or possibly a small herd of cats, but in the end, all that returned to her was silence.  With a sigh, Bryallyn gestured to Constant and followed after the others.

Rounding the corner at the end of the path, Bryallyn found Sten standing in the center of the path leading up to the gate, weapon at hand as he stared down the darkspawn on the opposite side of what barrier remained standing.  Wynne was already off to one side, quickly casting the few offensive spells she had in her arsenal that could assist them, while Leliana had a vantage point on a nearby rooftop.  From there, the bard was already launching arrow after arrow at darkspawn on the far side of the gate, as evidenced by their loud and snarling complaints as the missiles struck home.  Climbing to a nearby platform just above the top edge of the gate, Bryallyn moved into position after giving Constant the order to protect Wynne.

As Shianni warned, the gate did not stop the darkspawn.  An ogre on the other side managed to snap the rest into pieces after two solid hits.  Moving with great lumbering speed for one so large, it barrelled through, directly challenging Sten.  The qunari’s reaction -- a bellowing war cry in a language Bryallyn could not understand -- brought a hint of a smile to her lips even as she focused.  Comfort could come from strange places.  Across from her, Leliana continued to shoot at the remaining darkspawn who were now crowding together behind the ogre in an attempt to swarm through after the beast.  Though often taking two or three direct hits before they would fall, it was easy to see the bard was doing considerable damage as a pile of dying or dead corpses began to grow.  

With Leliana’s attention on that threat, Bryallyn opted to take aim at the ogre in order to provide what distraction she could to assist Sten.  Shot after shot, she aimed at vulnerable areas -- mostly his eyes and neck -- but it soon became clear that her attempts were offering no help whatsoever.  The beast completely ignored her, choosing to focus only on Sten.  Pausing to reassess the situation, Bryallyn spotted another wave of darkspawn approaching across the bridge.  Reluctantly, she decided to assist Leliana with that end of the battle, leaving it up to Wynne to keep Sten in fighting form long enough to dispatch the beast.   _ What I would give for additional warriors right now! _ She mused silently.   _ Maker, help us through this! _

A loud, screeching caw cut through the darkened skies some moments later.  Startled, Bryallyn glanced upwards to find a pair of Ferelden red breasted falcons arriving to join in the fray.  The larger of the two squawked again, its eyes focused solely on Bryallyn, and she gasped, eyes widening in recognition.  It was the pair she’d assisted in the king’s gardens the day she and Nathaniel met so many years before.  How had they survived?  Nodding once, she gestured towards the ogre and gave them direction while turning her attention back to the approaching darkspawn.

The battle turned to their advantage soon afterwards, beginning with the fall of the ogre.  Once dispatched, Sten worked to help clear out the remaining darkspawn at the gates, and after what seemed an eternity but in reality was more like thirty or forty minutes, the skirmish was over.  

“You --” Shianni gasped, stumbling up the path to join them, several other elves coming to a halt behind her.  “You did it!”

Bryallyn’s lip quirked upwards at one corner as she nodded.  “For the moment,” she agreed.  Another squawking caw above them interrupted her train of thought and she glanced through the now empty barricade.  There was an urgency in the bird’s call Bryallyn could not ignore.  “We should go,” she told the others, pointing in the direction from which the darkspawn had come.  Turning back to Shianni, she added, “Remember, go to the main gates should they return in force.”  Without another word, Bryallyn hurried after her companions.

 


	110. None Shall Pass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, huge thanks to my beta, Erynnar, who keeps me honest and on my toes!  I may win some battles, but overall the campaign was successful because of her!  THANK YOU!

 

“It can’t be much farther,” Durbin huffed as Fergus led his small band of troops over the rise of the hill.  “Can it?”

Kayt shook her head in response then whistled softly, catching Shadowhawk’s attention.  She made a gesture with her hand.  The wolf bobbed its head in an acknowledgement of sorts before lurching forward on all fours.  He slipped out of sight within seconds.  

“Scouting ahead?” Fergus asked beside her.

“Yes,” Kayt replied.  To Durbin, she said, “I have traveled this way many times.  Another mile or so and we should be there.  No more than that.”

Considering most of their group were warriors and the fact they had no transportation but their own legs, they’d made good time in their return to the capital city.  Still, the nearer they came, the more evident it became the battle was already engaged or if not, soon would be.  With each step, every mile closer, the Ferelden geography surrounding them took on clearer signs of the Taint, though thankfully no darkspawn had been encountered along the way.  Yet.

Shadowhawk came bounding back to the group within minutes, his soft footpads tattooing out a familiar rhythmic pattern only Kayt managed to catch.  Without halting, the wolf uttered a series of yips and yowls at her before darting back in the direction from which he’d come.  Her eyes focusing straight ahead, Kayt reached for her bow even as she started after him.  “We must hurry!”

Caught by surprise, Fergus signalled the rest and followed immediately, increasing his pace while calling encouragement to the others.  When he caught up with Kayt, he asked, “How bad?”

She shrugged.  “Shadowhawk’s messages are not as easily interpreted as if he spoke like us,” she pointed out, “but his meaning is clear enough.  The darkspawn have arrived at the city.  The battle begun.”  She looked over at him, green eyes filled with concern.  “Pray to the Maker we are not too late.”

The distance to the city gates was covered faster than Fergus believed they could move after all the traveling in the past couple of days.  Their arrival was met with the usual chaos of a battlefield.  Darkspawn of all types were visible inside the gates and battling against the makeshift army Bryallyn had collected over the past months.  For obvious reasons, the guard usually standing at the gates was absent.  Fergus, in a moment of inspiration, pulled his sword free of its sheath and lifted it over his head, shouting, “For Ferelden!”  With a roar, the rest of their group charged forth to enter the fray.

After giving Shadowhawk leave to fight as he would, Kayt followed and drifted upwards to the walls of the city.  Height was an advantage she would gladly take just now, and even as she gained altitude, she was launching one arrow after another into the plethora of targets available.  Fergus and the rest of their group she saw advancing as she glanced down below.  Despite the battle raging around her, she could not help but admire them as they moved onto the field in a swarm and in unison.  It was a moving and inspirational sight to see, if one could get past the horrors of facing such tainted creatures sent to destroy everything in their path.  

Once inside the walls of the city, Fergus narrowed his attention and focus to one thing: defeating the darkspawn.  Whatever his feelings about Kayt’s involvement in this battle, it was too late to change anything and he did his best to push it to the back of his mind.  All he could do was fight his way through and hope for the best.  The Maker and destiny had already decided whatever fate lay ahead of them.  It was out of his hands now.

“Over there!” he shouted, using his sword to point in the direction of a templar facing off with an emissary who clearly had the advantage.

“On it!” Durbin shouted.   

In the distance, Fergus spied a wave of darkspawn surging through a partly shut gate leading to areas further inside the city.  “On me!” he shouted to those who remained, and without waiting to see if they followed, he charged forward.  

 

~ n ~

 

“Your Majesty, are you --”

Growling angrily, more because Teagan insisted on using the title when he _knew_ it drove Alistair bonkers, the Warden cut his uncle off.  “Don’t!  Just … don’t, alright?  We’ve got bigger things to worry about than --”

“Hey, Warden,” Oghren interrupted, calling over to Alistair and interrupting, “we got an ogre or two coming towards the gates.”  Chuckling, he winked up at Alistair and concluded, “Wanna go have some fun?”

Alistair reached up and pulled the visor to his helmet back down.  “Do I ever!  For the Grey Wardens!” he shouted, charging off after the dwarf with the maniacal look in his eyes.  Teagan had heard of berserkers, of course, but had never witnessed one in battle in person before.  With a silent prayer to the Maker, he hoped that the dwarf was able to tell friend from foe and that Alistair knew what he was about.  Still, not desirous of having to face off against Anora should the king fall in battle, Teagan quickly directed several of his men to follow after him.  It was going to take some time and training and more than a few personal battles, he suspected, before they would ever get Alistair acting like the king he was meant to be, but all things considered, that could wait until later.

 

~ n ~

Genlocks were, Fergus decided then and there, the worst of the lot of darkspawn.  Small and compact, they exhibited extraordinary strength from such stocky builds, and their numbers were seemingly unending.  In the time it took him to take down one genlock, Fergus could have taken out one hurlock and at the very least started on another.  He didn’t know how his sister was able to do this -- to face these creatures on a day to day basis and hold them at bay from the rest of Thedas.  If this was what Grey Wardens had to face, he was thankful that two survived, but was very appreciative of the fact he was not counted among them.  

With a heave and a roaring battle cry in support of Highever, he finally managed to cleave his current opponent’s head in two with his sword.  Gasping for breath, he turned his gaze towards the surrounding area.  Slowly, the numbers of darkspawn were beginning to dwindle.  Nearby, he caught the bright flash and felt the ground beneath him tremble just a little, followed immediately by a hurlock emissary falling to the ground.  It wasn’t dead, as indicated by quick movements to push itself back to its feet, but Fergus saw before he heard the king launch forward, his blade slashing and shield bashing.  

“Is that the king, ser?”

Fergus looked to his right, noticing Durbin stepping beside him.  He, like everyone else in the area, showed obvious signs of having been engaged in a ferocious battle.  “That would be him,” Fergus agreed.

“Twenty-two!” Alistair shouted out with mild glee as the emissary remained on the ground this time.

“Hey, now, Warden, that emissary only counts as one!”

Fergus’ gaze shifted.  He’d met Oghren before, of course, and could boast that he’d managed to survive one drinking encounter with him.   _Mostly_.

“Hah!”  Alistair’s retort was quick and pronounced.  “If I’m using Templar skills to bring him down, he counts at the very _least_ as two.”

Grumbling, the dwarf stalked over, poking at the now deceased darkspawn with the edge of his axe.  “Well, I suppose _this_ time …,” he mumbled.

Chuckling, Alistair spotted Fergus then and waved the teyrn over beside him.  “There you are!”  His eyes glanced around the area in concern, then further into the distance.  “The others …?

Breathing in deeply, Fergus nodded.  “Delilah and her group are safe,” he assured the king first off.  “We arrived back just in time to assist with --” he swung his hand around to indicate the immediate vicinity “-- this.  Are there more on the way?”

“Shale?”

The ground shook beneath his feet, and it took a moment to realize it was due to the approach of a giant, stone-encrusted golem.  “It would appear they are no more for the moment.”

Alistair’s gaze shifted again.  “Morrigan.”

Fergus frowned.  He’d heard tales of the Wilds witch from Bryallyn’s companions and he couldn’t say he was left feeling that he could trust her.  Now, as she sauntered over in their direction, he thought he could understand why.  There was something in her eyes, a glittering _knowing_ that he couldn’t quite put into words, but despite that left him feeling … uneasy.

“Yes?”

If Fergus read Alistair correctly, the king didn’t appear too at ease, either.  “Can you shift into that bird form of yours and scout the area to see if more are coming this way?”

Morrigan opened her mouth to respond, the look on her face both bored and dismissive, Fergus thought, but when she spoke after the briefest of hesitations, all she replied was, “Of course.”  A moment later, she’d shifted into the form of a raven and launched herself skyward.

A brush of movement at his side startled Fergus.  “Do you want me to follow her?” Zevran asked quietly, his eyes dancing between Fergus and Alistair with ....  Fergus frowned.  With glee?  

“Heh.”  Alistair lifted a hand to push back the visor of his helm.  “If I had my way, I’d give you leave to --”  But before he could finish the thought aloud, Fergus saw the man catch himself, swallow tightly, then shake his head, sighing heavily.  “No, Zevran.  She will come back.  Of that I’m sure.”

“You trust her that much?” the elf queried.  “After all we have been through on this journey?”

Alistair sighed, shoulders heaving beneath his armor as the air released.  “Not particularly, but … we have a temporary alliance of sorts.”  He shook his head again.  “Let her be for now.  She will be back.”  

“As you wish, _Your Majesty_.”

Finally finding a pause in which Fergus felt he could break in with a question of his own, he ignored Alistair’s grumble of disapproval at the elf and asked, “Where is Bryallyn?”

The king winced.  “She and Nathaniel have gone into the city proper,” he explained.  “She took one team, Nathaniel took another.  They’re trying to make their way to Fort Drakon.  That seems to be where the darkspawn have emerged from the Deep Roads and, according to Riordan, the most likely location for the archdemon to make its presence known.”

Several pairs of footsteps came bounding up beside them.  Fergus pulled his gaze from the distant Fort Drakon to find Kayt, Durbin and several of the others arriving.  Relief washed through him briefly, and if the softness in her green eyes was something to go by, Kayt noticed, replying with a small, subtle smile.  “Where do you need us, Your Majesty?” Fergus asked, bringing his attention back around to Alistair.

A perplexed expression crossing his features, Alistair muttered, “That is a good question.”  

“I would suggest they remain here at the gates,” Teagan interjected as he joined them on Alistair’s other side.  He nodded a greeting at Fergus who returned it.  “Despite what your apostate friend might find, I think it’s safe to say there will be more darkspawn, if not now, eventually.”

The sounds of battle around them were broken by a singular long howl in the distance.  Kayt stiffened momentarily, before announcing, “Perhaps sooner than you might wish.  Shadowhawk says there are more on the way.”

Alistair frowned in her direction.  “More?  How can you …  Oh, wait, you’re a ranger, too, aren’t you?”

Kayt nodded with a smile.  “I am, Your Majesty.”

“And that was your … wolf companion?”

She nodded again.  “Shadowhawk and I have been together for many years now,” she explained.  “We have a manner of communicating with one another most rangers do not.”

Fergus chuckled softly.  “I’m sure Bryallyn will be envious of that once she finds out.”

“No doubt,” Alistair agreed.  Straightening, he hefted his sword and shield.  “Alright, uncle,” he told Teagan, “let’s get the troops into place.  At least this time we _know_ they’ll be coming and can somewhat prepare ourselves before hand.”

As the group began to break up, Fergus pulled Kayt to one side.  “Where will you be?” he asked quietly.

She smiled up at him.  “Along the battlements, my love,” she replied.  “Like _Le Renard_ , I do better with ranged attacks.  I can be our eyes if you need them.”

He managed a small smile at that offer.  “Always.”  Leaning over, he brushed a quick kiss to her temple.  In the distance, they could hear a shout of warning from beyond the gates.  “Go,” he told her while hoisting his shield and reaching for his sword.  “I will find you after.”

 


	111. Two Steps From Hell

 

The resounding bellow of the archdemon in pain roared from above, catching Nathaniel’s attention and drawing his eyes upwards.  His breath caught when he spied what looked to be someone holding onto the beast -- a human someone who sported familiar Warden armor.   _Riordan_!  

The battle that took place between Warden and archdemon was a sight to behold and left him nearly breathless.  The senior Warden appeared to have the upper hand, and it soon became clear he wasn’t holding onto the beast with his hands but by the hilts of his daggers embedded into the creature’s back.  The archdemon swerved sharply, attempting to dislodge its unwelcome guest.  The first sharp jerky turn was no match for the Warden, but after diving into the side of one of the nearby towers, the archdemon turned again.  This time, Riordan was was not so fortunate and was shaken free.  Nathaniel cringed as he watched the man slide across a leathery wing.  At the last moment, he appeared to catch himself.  At the same time, Nathaniel noticed a pair of large tears in the wing, due no doubt to Riordan’s blades.  But less than a blink of the eyes later, the senior Warden lost what little precarious hold he had as the archdemon shook the man free, leaving him to tumble awkwardly to the ground below.

Nathaniel turned away, wincing.   _It is now up to us_ , he realized.   _Either I or Bryallyn will have to kill that thing … and die in the process._

“How much further to the fort?”

It was useless to focus on what had to be done.   _Duty first_.  Nathaniel believed in that with all his heart, and he knew Bryallyn did too.  It could not be changed.  Wiping away the blood and gore that had sprayed across his face with his last kill with the sleeve of his leathers, Nathaniel turned his attention back to more immediate concerns and shook his head.  “Not much further,” he replied, sheathing his daggers and reaching for his preferred bow.  “But from what we have encountered so far, that could take ten minutes or an hour.”  His features darkened grimly.  “It all depends on how many darkspawn slow us down.”

Trinion nodded, a wry grimace at his lips.  Grayson was already moving forward, scouting out and identifying the areas of least resistance for them which, given just how many of the darkspawn they’d encountered since parting ways with Bryallyn’s group, was a sobering thought.  “I hope Lady Bryallyn and her team aren’t facing the brunt of the hoard because of our actions,” he murmured.

Nathaniel spied Grayson in the distance and sighed.  It didn’t matter that he’d told the rogue he could now sense the darkspawn as they approached, Grayson was determined to act as scout nonetheless.  Nathaniel was more concerned it would get him killed prematurely than serve as any valid method of notification.  “If she is,” he replied to Trinion, “she will handle it.  Remember, they have the healer, Wynne, with them.”

“Which is more than I can say for us.”  

Each of them had suffered injury along the way.  There were the usual battlefield trophies -- cuts and abrasions -- and a few more concerning ones, though despite a large and surly hurlock falling on top of him as it died, Gryffyd somehow managed to come out of his encounter without having broken the leg that took the brunt of the damage.  Still, they all were well aware that their ability to survive such injury dwindled with each skirmish -- and healing potion -- engaged.

The lightest of fluttering of burbles crept through Nathaniel’s veins in an ever increasingly familiar pattern.  Grunting softly, he gestured Trinion and Gryffyd to follow him.  “Darkspawn ahead.  Be prepared.”

They crept through the back alleys and streets, around piles of debris and destruction, covering the distance of three blocks before they found Grayson up ahead and returning to them.  “Darkspawn up ahead, m’lord,” he breathed softly.  “Just around that far corner leading to the main street leading up to Fort Drakon.”

“How many?” Nathaniel asked while reaching for an arrow and nocking it into place.

“Two squads from what I could tell,” Grayson responded.  “No more than eight or ten.”

Nathaniel’s eyes scoured a dark alleyway to their left.  The sensation beneath his skin continued to grow stronger.  “Too many.  We will lose valuable time if we engage them.  A way around them, perhaps?” he asked, pointing.

Grayson eyed the alley and considered what he’d seen up ahead of them.  “Possibly, m’lord,” he agreed.  “If it comes out where I believe, it should bring us out further north onto the main road leading up to the fort.”

Nathaniel turned in that direction.  “Perfect.  Lead the way,” he told Grayson.  “And you two follow him.  I’m assuming that the darkspawn can sense me as easily as I sense them, so best to have me bring  up the rear.”   _While hoping they cannot._

 

~ n ~

 

As they left the alienage, Bryallyn heard a bellowing roar behind her and just managed to scramble forward before the archdemon came flying over, breathing a path of destruction in its wake and definitively ending any possibility of them retreating back the way they had come.  If that had been an option, which it wasn’t.  “Right then,” she breathed, her eyes meeting each of her companions’ one by one.  “Let’s keep moving.”

Outside of the alienage, Bryallyn’s stepped hesitated when she heard the loud, indignant screeches of what could only be the archdemon.  Eyes shooting upwards and searching, she heard Leliana whisper, “Maker have mercy!  Riordan does not stand a chance!”  Bryallyn spotted her fellow Warden, grimacing when he slipped over the edge of the archdemon’s wing, falling out of sight beyond the edge of the horizon.  

Bryallyn cringed when his body fell beyond sight.  “It is up to us then,” she murmured, looking over at the others.  “Let’s go.”

They followed along the northern streets of the Palace District, dispatching darkspawn as they continued west in the direction of Fort Drakon.  Reaching the gates surrounding the fort turned out to be a challenge in itself.  Fighting through wave after wave of darkspawn at street level was difficult enough, but the addition of traps -- most were simple, but a few were more complex and challenging to disarm -- complicated matters.  Thankfully, between Bryallyn’s and Leliana’s skills they were able to spot them easily and dispatch them.

But that did not stop the waves of darkspawn.

Leliana, having snuck around a corner and up ahead a few blocks to scout out what they would face, returned and dropped to a knee beside Constant and Bryallyn.  “Maker help us when we reach the fort,” she rasped, her eyes meeting Bryallyn’s and displaying grim concern.  “I counted at least thirty darkspawn up ahead.  Many have the advantage of height as well.”

Sighing, Bryallyn nodded.  She looked over at Sten.  “You will be at the forefront.  Are you up to this?”  The qunari grunted, the only sound he made, but the look in his eyes was enough to reassure her.  Pushing herself to her feet, Bryallyn nodded.  “Lead on, Leliana.  We’ll be right behind you.”

It occurred to Bryallyn briefly as they moved through the destruction of the capital city that it was impossible to tell what time of day or night it might be.  Smoke from all the fires filled and thickened the air above them, darkening whatever hints of light might have been able to peek through.  It was so bad on this side of the city that after their departure from the alienage, she’d parted ways with the Ferelden red-breasted falcons rather than risk their ability to fly or breathe in the current conditions.  She’d put out another call to any animals in the area for support, but so far none had responded to her summons.

“Up there!” Leliana announced, hand flying in the direction of a staircase.  With a roaring battlecry, Sten lurched forward, engaging the ogre descending the stairs.  Constant followed after him, barking his own rallying cry.  Bryallyn nodded at Leliana who opted for her blades in this fight and the bard joined the fray as well.  From a distance, Bryallyn began shooting her arrows, staying close enough to Wynne to offer some sort of protection while the mage did her best, alternating between offensive spells and those that would assist her companions in surviving this battle.

Bryallyn took shot after shot after shot.  She’d been trying to conserve her better arrows for the battle with the archdemon, but even with retrieving as many as she could after the skirmishes, she was running low and was left with no other option but to use them.  If they got to the final battle and she had no arrows left, she was going to be in real trouble.  Though she’d improved her skills with blades in the past few months, her bow was by far her weapon of choice.

Following her companions up the staircase, Bryallyn paused beside Leliana.  “Leli, what do you have in the way of arrows?”

Leliana didn’t appear surprised by the request.  “I have a plentiful supply,” she admitted.  “I have several types as well.  What do you need?”

“The fire and ice arrows appear to do the best against them.”

The bard nodded, handing over what she had on hand of both.  “I also have some of those elven arrows we picked up at the Dalish camp.  Oh, and … these.”  She pulled some nasty looking barbed missiles from her quiver.  She wrinkled her nose as she handed them over.

Bryallyn chuckled and accepted the elven made arrows.  “I’ll use these first,” she said, hoping that they might buy her a little time.  She still had a few left as well.  “Save the others for later -- in case I need more or you need some in the meantime.”

“Understood.”

“Kadan,” Sten called over from the gate leading into the courtyard of Fort Drakon, “it is now passable.”

Sighing, Bryallyn glanced around.  In all honesty, she’d half hoped Nathaniel and his group might have passed through already or at the very least joined them by now, but there was no sign of them.  She pushed back stray thoughts as to what that might mean.  “Is everyone good to go?” she asked instead.

“Hold for a moment, please,” Wynne murmured.  

Bryallyn watched the mage concentrate, eyes mostly closed for a long moment, and then felt a warm wave of healing magic flow over and through her.  Minor complaints and even the exhaustion of the battle suddenly dissipated, leaving Bryallyn feeling more refreshed for what still lay before them.  Leliana, Sten, even Constant appeared to be experiencing the same.  “How are you holding up, Wynne?” she asked.

The mage smiled.  “I still have some fight left in me,” she quipped, “though if you have any lyrium to spare, I would gladly take it.”

Nodding, Bryallyn fished the few potions she had out of her pack and handed them over.  Leliana and Sten both did the same.  

Tucking the potions away, Wynne nodded.  “Those will do very nicely indeed.  Thank you.”  She winked over at Bryallyn.  “I am ready now, Warden.  Lead us where you may.”

Taking a deep breath, Bryallyn nodded and reached for the gate.  “Let’s go then.”

“Were you thinking to leave us behind and take all the glory in the battle to come?” a voice called out.

Smiling softly at the familiar voice, Bryallyn turned to find her husband leading his group up the stairs.  “You made it!” she breathed in relief.

“Relatively unscathed, too,” he concluded, joining them.  He hugged his wife before turning to face the others.  He opened his mouth to say something when he felt the warmth of healing magic move over him.  “Thank you,” he told the mage instead.  “That was indeed a relief.”  

Gryffyd nodded from behind him, visibly standing taller and more sure of himself now that the ache in his leg was taken care of.

“Let’s go,” Bryallyn told them.  “We still have to make our way to through the fort to the roof.”

With double their numbers, the fight into the fort was not nearly so challenging as it might have been, but it was still a battle.  Emissaries, Alphas, even a dragon thrall were counted among the other genlocks and hurlocks who attacked.  The space was narrow and cramped and moving forward took time and persistence.  By the time they made it to the doors of the fort itself, Bryallyn estimated they’d fought at least fifty of the darkspawn to get there.  

“How many more can there be?” Trinion asked as he caught his breath.  They paused yet again for Wynne to offer what healing she could to the group.

Bryallyn gave her husband a wry look.  “Too many,” she replied.  Sighing, she added, “I wish we had time to find where they entered from the Deep Roads and shut it off, but we can’t afford that right now.”

“No,” Nathaniel agreed.  “We must destroy the archdemon first.”  He paused a moment, then added in a quiet and more somber tone, “You did see Riordan bring it down, didn’t you?”

Bryallyn nodded.  “I did,” she assured him.  “It will be up to us to finish it.”  

Trinion, Sten and Gryffyd took the lead as they entered Fort Drakon proper.  Constant came into line behind them, followed by Leliana and Grayson, then Bryallyn, Nathaniel and Wynne.  But where Bryallyn feared they might encounter a mass of troops, instead all they found were bodies strewn across the floor.  Dead bodies.

“Not what I expected,” Trinion announced when they spread out to search the immediate area.

“Nor I,” Bryallyn agreed.  Frowning, she stepped over to the doorway leading to the  next set of chambers inside the building.  “Something isn’t right here,” she added, finding the same sort of situation.  

“Did some of our soldiers arrive here before we did?” Wynne asked.

“There would have been some stationed here at the time the darkspawn arrived,” Nathaniel reminded them.  “Perhaps these are they?”

Bryallyn sighed and shrugged.  “Possibly,” she agreed, “but some of these are darkspawn, too.”

“But their numbers are few,” Leliana interjected.  “I think Nathaniel is correct -- I think these were our forces stationed here before the assault began.”

“Is there hope that some may have survived and are already fighting on the rooftop?” Wynne asked.

Bryallyn steeled her shoulders back and shrugged.  “There’s only one way to find out.  Let’s keep moving.”

They made their way to the back portion of the fort, defeating a group of Shades and some sort of magic user in the process.  Thanks to Grayson’s quick eyes, he spotted one last trap set up just on the other side of a doorway, disarming it before any damage could be added to that of the wave of undead they ran into as well.  Once this area was cleared, Bryallyn opened the lone door that remained shut while saying, “If this one doesn’t lead up, I have no idea where to go.”

But almost before she’d stepped fully inside the room, Trinion’s hand grasped her shoulder.  “Lady Bryallyn,” he murmured in warning while nodding at the bodies lying in a bloody scattered mess ahead of her, “we should be cautious.”

“There is someone ahead of us,” Sten intoned, moving to the right as he followed the party into the room.  He pulled his blade to the ready.

Bryallyn, already scanning the room, had spotted it as well … and a hint of a shape and movement triggered memories of nights back in camp ….  “Sandal, is that you?” she called out.

“Enchantment?”

A burst of laughter escaped both Leliana and Wynne and Sten eased his stance somewhat, but Bryallyn placed her arm out in front of Nathaniel and Trinion.  “It’s alright,” she murmured to them, a smile forming at her lips even as she began walking over in the dwarf’s direction.  “He’s a friend.”

“A friend?”  

Sighing in relief, Bryallyn stepped forward and smiled at Sandal.  “Do you happen to have any of your father’s wares with you, Sandal?” she asked.  “We sure could use them if you do.”

The dwarf’s eyes brightened.  “Enchantment!” he declared, leading her over to a table nearby.

Blinking in surprise at the variety offered, Bryallyn soon returned to herself.  “Oh goodness, you were surely Maker sent!”  Over the next few minutes, she set herself about trading with him until everyone had what items and gear they needed for the battle to come.  “Thank you, Sandal,” she told him while handing over a small purse of gold she had on hand.  “You may have just ensured our victory.”

The dwarf grinned at her in his usual manner as he pocketed the pouch.  “Enchantment!”

As they continued on to the stairwell beyond, Nathaniel asked quietly, “Who is he?”

Bryallyn smiled at her husband.  “A friend.  You might have seen him and his father around Arl Eamon’s estate.  They’ve traveled with us most of the Blight and have kept us well stocked with what goods and rumors we’ve needed throughout.”  

A movement to Bryallyn’s right brought Grayson into step with her.  “Darkspawn up ahead, m’lady,” he murmured.

Reaching for her bow and some of her newly acquired arrows, Bryallyn nodded.  “The rooftop is the level above this.  We can’t be far now.”

 


	112. Mine Eyes Have Seen

Nathaniel reached the final set of doors ahead of the others, examining and testing them first to be certain no traps had been left waiting for them.  It was unlikely, but seeing as they were this close to the end, he wasn’t about to take chances.  Once assured they were safe, he threw them open.

Chaos didn’t even come close to describing the scene before them as he and the rest of the group stepped outside.  Bodies lay strewn across the rooftop, most of them numbering from the city guard if the armor was any indication.  A few were of darkspawn, but it was clear by the numbers that remained that what few allied soldiers remained were on their last legs.  “Call for reinforcements!” he shouted over at Bryallyn.  As she blew on the horn she carried, Nathaniel looked over at Trinion.  “It ends here!  You and the others, do what you can to help them keep the darkspawn off us.  Attack the archdemon if you get the chance, but focus on the darkspawn.  The archdemon must die by a Warden’s hand in order to end this Blight!  Understood?”

“Aye, my Lord!”  Trinion responded with a shout over the sound of the horn behind them.  

Bryallyn strode over beside her husband, her eyes finding his.  “We shall see who can make it,” she told him as her gaze took in the surrounding area.  “We’ve cleared much of the way, but there are still plenty of darkspawn spreading throughout the city.”

“We will do what we can,” he told her.  “How do you want to do this?”

“Wynne will watch out for us as best she can,” Bryallyn explained, gesturing towards the mage who was already moving into position nearby.  Constant positioned himself near her to help keep the enemy away.  “The rest is up to us.”

“I’ve instructed Trinion, Gryffyd and Grayson to keep the darkspawn engaged,” he explained.  “We may need their assistance at some point, but I’m more concerned that we take the beast down and end this here once and for all.”

A loud bellowing roar from across the rooftop pulled their eyes to their target.  Reaching for an arrow, Bryallyn nodded and nocked it onto the string.  “It ends here,” she agreed.  “Nathaniel --”

Nathaniel lifted a hand to her shoulder and squeezed in reassurance.  He smiled down at her when she looked up at him again.  “We know what must be done,” he told her, “and we know we must be the ones to do it.”

Bryallyn, words choking her throat and leaving her unable to speak, nodded again.  There were so many things she wanted to say to him, yet she could only trust that somehow, some way, he would just … know.  Time was not on their side any longer.  Turning, she darted off to find a better position from which to target the archdemon with her arrows.

He did not allow his eyes to linger on his wife’s retreating form.  Instead, Nathaniel pulled his blades free of their sheaths and he launched forward.  There was a battle to be won.

 

~ n ~

 

Remaining at a distance, Wynne kept a discerning eye upon her companions.  Though skilled warriors all, she was proud of the fact she could assist them in this battle.  She was a healer, able to work her magic in such ways as to keep them whole and hearty through the dangers they faced, and yet even she had a few offensive spells at her disposal.  She understood her purpose here, of course, and did not waste undue energy or lyrium on anything that might keep her from her main task, yet she could not keep the smug smile from her lips as she watched a particularly strong petrify spell stop the archdemon in his tracks just long enough for one of the others to get in a more challenging attack.  Satisfaction in a job well done would come later with recollections such as these.

When the first signs of reinforcements arrived, a wave of relief swept through the mage.  Redcliffe soldiers were the greatest in number followed by the dwarves, but she spotted a few mages among their ranks as well.  “To me!” she called, and they came.  “Our goal is to keep our allies alive for as long as we can,” she explained quickly.  “Attack only if opportunity presents itself and if you can do so and not waste your efforts!”

They spread out among the rooftop afterwards and it was then Wynne noticed the dalish had arrived as well.  The archers, like Bryallyn, sought out places giving them shot advantage, while those with blades joined those attacking the darkspawn.  And on the far side of the rooftop, Wynne spotted a vaguely familiar face.   _Lanaya_.  The woman nodded once before turning her attention to the battle at hand.  

Pride was a funny thing, Wynne mused while casting a protective ward over Sten who was attacking the archdemon’s leg at the moment and exposing himself directly to the beast’s toothy maw.  The allies had the advantage in numbers just now, and as such a part of her felt a surge of power through her blood that often accompanied such knowledge and hope.  And yet, the darkspawn were succeeding in taking down many of them.  By rights the allies should be winning.  By numbers, too.  Wynne was no tactician, but she’d spent too many years working with the Templars and King’s armies not to recognize that something wasn’t quite right here.

The sudden roar of the archdemon startled Wynne from vague thoughts, and she spotted Bryallyn running towards her.  “It’s moving across the way!” she shouted.  

Wynne caught the Warden’s gesture and her eyes followed -- just in time to see one of the beast’s spirit attacks launched towards them.  Instinct had the mage lifting her hand before her, the incantation slipping automatically past her lips and dampening the potential damage.  “Are you injured?” she breathed once the attack faded and she could pull her focus back around her immediate area.

“I will manage,” Bryallyn panted.  

A group nearby shouted with pain and anger, and Wynne spotted a hurlock taking down an elf and a dwarf with one fell swoop of his war axe.  “They are much more organized than those we have faced before,” she muttered in frustration.  “Their numbers are fewer and yet they do more damage!”

“It’s the archdemon,” Bryallyn gasped between ragged breaths.  “It’s guiding them, helping them focus.”

The explanation brought back memories of discussions during their journey about such things.  “We must remove the archdemon,” Wynne mused.

Bryallyn nodded.  She loosed an arrow in the direction of the archdemon before replying, “Yes, but it must be either me or Nathaniel who kills it.  It must be a Warden!”  Only then did she run off to find a better vantage point.

On the far side of the rooftop, Wynne caught sight of more darkspawn arriving.  They were intercepted by a squad of the dwarves, but she could see they were having a time of it.  With the archdemon now presenting itself as a ranged only target, the mage had to move in order to bring it into her line of sight.  At the same time, she edged closer to the group of dwarves.  She took cover from an attack by the archdemon behind one of the short walls protecting a ballista, but she still had line of sight on her allies and managed to cast a spell of protection over them as she waited.  Before rising, she gazed over the remainder of the troops, noting quickly that though their numbers were still clearly to the advantage, with the archdemon guiding the darkspawn, their efforts were essentially useless.  Things had to change.  And soon.

 

~ n ~

 

One of the first things Leliana had noted upon arriving on the rooftop were the two ballistae.  At the time, she hadn’t given the devices much thought, but when the archdemon took to the air and landed on the far side of an otherwise impassable gap, the memory returned and she sprang quickly into action.

The concept of using a ballista wasn’t too difficult to fathom, she found.  Which was good -- she’d opted to let Bryallyn purchase the remaining arrows from Sandal before they arrived since Bry relied on her bow much more than Leliana did of late.  

One of the Highever warriors -- Trinion, she thought -- stood nearby as Leliana turned.  “Keep them off of me!” she called.  She hurried up to the higher level, sliding to a halt beside the weapon.  It was already loaded and she caught sight of several additional bolts lying next to it on the far side.  It was, however, facing outwards, as if prepared for a threat coming in towards the fort rather than one already upon it.  That made sense, for who in their right mind would ever think that the threat might actually come from above and with an archdemon?

With effort, Leliana managed to turn the ballista on its base so that it could face where the archdemon now sat, almost directly behind where the weapon had been aimed.  She lost sense of time as the battle continued around her, and focused on this task alone.  When finally she felt satisfied with how the ballista was aimed, she took a quick look out before her.  Dread filled her immediately, the sight of so many bodies already lying on the ground motionless.  Nathaniel and Bryallyn, one at each side of the giant beast, had some shelter and took turns peeking out to launch their missiles at it.  Sten, Grayson, Gryffyd and Constant continued to take the battle to the groups of darkspawn that appeared from a doorway on the far side.  Redcliffe’s men and the dwarves assisted.  The few elves who remained -- and it was obvious that many of those who had succumbed to injury already were of the elves and mages ranks -- and two mages were all assisting Bryallyn and Nathaniel as they could, launching attacks during moments when the archdemon was between attacks.  But it was quite clear that any damage they were able to do was having very little effect on the giant beast.

Leliana glanced across the controls of the ballista and made certain everything was set.  “May the Maker guide my steps,” she murmured before slamming her foot against the pedal to trigger the bolt’s release.  It sprang away with enough force to shake the device and, caught off balance with one foot still slightly raised, Leliana dropped to her knees.  She landed hard, but within grasping distance of another bolt which she reached for without having seen the results of the first.  Only as she looked above the device while pulling herself upright did she see that it had hit.  Not dead on as one might hope, but a new ragged hole had appeared in the archdemon’s wing, and that was something at least.  The bellowing roar from the beast also supported that claim.  Lips curling into a determined smile, she loaded a second shot….  

 

~ n ~

 

Opportunity, when it came, left no time to think, only to react.  Throwing her bow aside, Bryallyn turned and ran towards the archdemon, now down and at the very least unconscious.  Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the hilt of a sword and turning her angle slightly she wrapped her hand around it, yanking it free.  Continuing at full charge, she recalled her days of training at Highever, of advice given by other warriors more familiar with use of such a weapon, and hefted it above her head with both hands.  With a shout of anger, defiance and, she hoped, victory, she dropped to a knee and slid beneath the archdemon.  The tip of her weapon found purchase, sinking deeply through it’s scale covered flesh and into the throat.  Though meeting resistance, Bryallyn had enough speed and force to slide from its snout down to the top of its belly.  When finally she came to a stop, she pushed herself to her feet with an urgency borne of desperation.  

_This has to end now!_

Across the open rooftop, Nathaniel’s attention was captured the moment he heard his wife’s cry echoing around him.  The call was a familiar one -- had he not heard Fergus shout the same in battle? -- and it told him more than the simple words would normally have.  This was it -- the end.  Bryallyn was taking the final blow.  With that knowledge, a slicing ache burned through Nathaniel’s chest.  He forced himself to remain silent, swallowing back words of protest and denial.  He would not steal the moment from her -- she’d earned that much and he accepted that, despite what his own private concerns might be.  And yet, in that moment he also knew himself to be selfish because he did not wish to face a life without her in it.  Arrangements for Bryce’s future care were made -- both had seen to that before the battle commenced.  He could afford to assist with this.  They had to be absolutely certain of the archdemon’s destruction.

Launching himself forward, Nathaniel arrived opposite of his wife as she struggled to thrust the tip of the blade downward through the skull of the archdemon.  His hands, strong and sure, wrapped around hers and together, they pushed it home.  Eyes meeting, pain stronger than anything he’d ever felt before in his life surging upwards through his arms and into his head, he did not let go.  Neither did Bryallyn.  Eventually, the world around him faded to black and the urge to fight fled along with it ….

 

~ n ~

 

From a distant rooftop, dark eyes narrowed in on the final climax to the battle.  Taking flight, the raven moved in closer, dodging random bits of falling debris, fire, and attacks by darkspawn or battle-weary soldiers who likely only made the motions in an effort to protect themselves from what they perceived as a threat.  Maneuvering her way in, she dropped to the rooftop with effortlessness and grace, landing deftly while at the same time as shifting back into her human form.

The Warden was too occupied to notice her sudden arrival, and the rest of their traveling companions did not dare draw nearer due to the obvious signs of danger.  Morrigan’s lips curved into a barest hint of a smile.  No, her opportunity would not be endangered by them.

The archdemon, gushing blood and gore from the long slice down its throat, attempted to stir.  Its eyes opened, the barest crack of a slit, but the witch could see that the end was near; the whites of its eyes rolling even as its spirit began the procedure to exit from its host.  

It was time to act.

Rounding the beast, Morrigan hurried over beside Bryallyn as she lifted the sword over the archdemon’s head, preparing to finish it off.  As she did so, Morrigan reached out a hand.  Resting it atop Bryallyn’s, she murmured softly into the Warden’s ear.  Bryallyn made no outward sign that she heard or understood, only roaring loudly and angrily as she thrust the sword down with as much strength as she could muster.

Freeing her mind of all thought and concern, Morrigan left herself open to the spirit of the Old God, advertising only that she was a potential vessel.  Bryallyn, despite foreknowledge of what would happen given to her by Riordan, would still have that barrier in place -- it was only natural, after all -- and Morrigan was counting on that in the hopes it would make _her_ the more desirable target.

Time stood still -- moments, minutes, it was impossible to tell -- but when the sensation began to pass, Morrigan slowly started to smile.  Removing her hand from Bryallyn’s, it dropped to her belly, caressing slowly as she whispered a few more words, ancient and powerful in origin.  Bryallyn remained standing with her hands on the sword as she struggled in her duty and in the distance a movement caught Morrigan’s eye.  Nathaniel was running in their direction now and Morrigan observed him closely.   _Strong willed.  Determined.  He refuses to let her leave him._  It was time to go.

Stepping back, Morrigan moved back around the archdemon’s body the way she had come, quickly transforming back into the shape of a raven and lifting off the rooftop.  Within moments, she was free of the battle and soaring away on the whim of the wind ….

 


	113. Casualties of War

“Your Majesty!”

He wondered if it meant he was finally getting used to the title that it took the messenger several tries with this sort of summons before Alistair looked over at him.  “Oh, you mean me, don’t you.  Right.”  He ignored his uncle’s heavy sigh just behind him.  “What is it?”

The man looked bewildered, as evidenced by the way his eyes flicked back and forth between Alistair and Teagan a few times.  “You -- your --  They -- They’re returning!” he stammered, then turned and ran off.

Confused, Alistair darted a quick glance over his shoulder at Teagan.  “Did you make any sense of that?” he asked.

Teagan shook his head.  “One _could_ presume he meant Bryallyn and the rest, I suppose,” he added after a moment.  His eyes drifted across the open battlefield where the last remnants of resistance by darkspawn were quickly fading. “We saw the explosion,” he added, pointing in the general direction of Fort Drakon.  It was, after all, the better presumption than yet another wave of darkspawn to be defeated.

“That is precisely what he meant,” Zevran murmured, joining them from the shadows and appearing with such haste that his typically well schooled looks were in an unusual state of disarray.  

The gravity in his tone caught Alistair’s attention immediately.  Grimacing tightly, he asked, “How bad?”

“We should find them shelter, and possibly more lyrium,” Zevran suggested.  “From what I could observe, our well-bosomed mage friend was casting healing spells even as they walked.”

Alistair nodded, waving over two of the men Teagan had assigned to protect him.  “Find some place large enough we can set up as an infirmary,” he told them.  They saluted him immediately then turned to do as requested.  “Oh,” Alistair shouted after them, “and if you can find additional healers among those who’ve survived, you should engage them as well!”

“We are going to need a very large space,” Teagan interjected.  Those who had survived relatively unscathed were now assisting those who required assistance off the field.  “There will be plenty requiring aid after this battle.”

Alistair eyed his uncle carefully.  “You’re looking pretty ragged there, too, Teagan.”

Teagan snorted, shaking his head.  “Minor injuries,” he insisted.  “I am still on my feet.  There are plenty of others who require attention ahead of me.”

Alistair nodded, accepting his uncle’s claim without argument.  Who but a soldier would really know their own state after such a fight as this?  Pondering their immediate problem, however, he asked, “What about Eamon’s estate?  Would that be enough space, do you think?”

“There is too much damage,” Zevran said, reminding both men of his presence.  “The Market District is nearly destroyed.  Much of the structure of the Arl’s estate has survived, but there is danger in trying to divert so many through that area at this time.”  He glanced up at Alistair with an apologetic look.  

Alistair bit back a groan, the elf’s words helping settle the weight of reality on his shoulders.  The battle was over, but the real fight was just beginning.  Peoples’ homes and businesses would be destroyed and those who survived would need help and guidance to get back on their feet let alone survive.  And _that_ job was going to be up to him.

As if sensing the direction of the king’s thoughts, Teagan announced, “You will not be alone in what is to come, Alistair.  Eamon and I will be around to guide you, as will Fergus and the others.”

“Assuming they survived the battle,” Alistair added morosely.  

“We did, Your Majesty.”  

Alistair turned to find Fergus limping in their direction.  The weariness in the teyrn’s tone was more than enough to indicate the struggles he’d faced during the battle, and Kayt stood beside him, her arm slipped around his waist in support as his arm draped over her shoulder.  

“Mostly, at any rate.”  Teagan moved over to offer more assistance, but Fergus waved him off.  “It isn’t as bad as it looks,” Fergus insisted.  “Mostly aggravation to old injuries.”

“Wynne is with the others,” Alistair told him.  “I have been told they are on their way down from Fort Drakon.  We’re trying to get an infirmary established now.”

In the distance, a persistent barking began to filter closer and closer, and Alistair turned on his heel, eyes scanning the streets beyond.  He _knew_ that bark!  “That’s Constant,” he told the others.  He started to take a step towards the sound, but Fergus reached a hand out and grasped Alistair by his shoulder.  “Just wait,” he said.  “That hound will find you, trust me.”

Alistair was about to protest -- the damage done at the top of the fort had to have been considerable considering the explosion that followed, and a part of him was almost desperate to find out if Morrigan had indeed kept her promise.  But in the time it took for him to make his decision, and true to Fergus’ suggestion, Constant came bounding around a corner at speed, eventually skidding to a halt before the king.  Breathing heavily, the mabari began barking loudly and wildly in a manner suggesting he had important news, but Alistair couldn’t quite decipher it.  “Where are the others, boy?” he asked.

Constant continued barking, adding excited leaps and bounds around the area and nearly bumping Fergus to the ground.  “I’d say it likely they’re almost here,” Fergus commented as Kayt helped him regain his balance.  Constant bobbed his head up and down, barking twice in agreement.

“Your Majesty,” a soldier called from about fifty feet away and who had a good look down the path by which Constant arrived, “they’re back!”  

Confusion took over then, but in the process Alistair was able to determine several things.  First and foremost, though severely injured, it appeared both Bryallyn and Nathaniel had survived the battle against the archdemon.  Additionally, he was informed that a satisfactory location for an impromptu field hospital had been located.  It took some doing, but eventually everyone was able to relocate there.  After that, it was merely a matter of waiting ….

 

~ n ~

 

A soft whine pulled Alistair from morose thoughts and his eyes dropped to the hound beside him.  Reaching over, he patted Constant on his shoulder.  “I know, boy,” he murmured softly, “I know.”  Constant, for his part, leaned his large head against the king’s leg for a long moment.  Together, the two sat in silence and waited.  For the first time in a very long time, Alistair prayed.

_“And what will happen if I do this?” he asked, still wary about his decision to allow Morrigan to perform this ritual._

_“I have already told you --”_

_Sighing, Alistair shook his head.  “No, that isn’t what I mean.  You said it would save the Warden who makes the killing blow.”_

_Rising from the bed, Morrigan nodded as she dressed herself.  “Indeed it will.  As I understand it, under normal circumstances the process of the Old God taking over the soul of the Grey Warden is what kills the Warden.  Our efforts this eve will allow the Old God to seek out the soul of the child in this case instead of the Warden, allowing both the child and the Warden to survive.  The Warden will have to make the final blow on the archdemon, that will not change, but the Old God will bypass the Warden, seeking out the child instead.”_

_Guilt began eating away deep inside him, but Alistair shoved it aside.  He had to focus now, to get the final answers he needed before it was too late.  Morrigan had made it clear they would never see one another again after this.  “Will the Warden be harmed in any other way?”_

_Morrigan paused, turning to face him.  He met her gaze, noted the considered and calculated look there, and just as easily the moment it shifted into understanding.  “You think she will insist upon killing the archdemon,” she murmured._

_Sighing, Alistair nodded.  “You know her as well as I do by now,” he pointed out.  “Do you see her allowing me to do it after all we’ve been through?”_

_Pulling the last of her garments on, Morrigan sauntered around the bed to stand before him.  The perpetual smirk she always seemed to have when talking to him was gone for the moment and that was almost as shocking as what she said next._

_“You care for her.”_

_There was no use in protesting it.  “Of course I do.  She is the closest thing to a real family I have ever had,” he replied honestly.  “I will admit, I did this for her safety and security only, not my own.  Bryce needs to be raised by his mother and father.”_

_“Hmm.  Perhaps I have done you discredit during our journey.”  Their eyes met again and Alistair glared darkly at her.  This was not what he wanted in terms of answers.  “Perhaps not,” she conceded a moment later.  “Anyway, you can be at ease, Alistair.  Whichever Warden it is that makes the final blow will survive.  I can promise nothing in the way of physical damage -- anyone going into battle takes that risk, do they not?  But I can promise the Warden will not die because of the Old God.  Is that sufficient assurance for you?”_

_It wasn’t, not really, but it was the best he could hope for.  “It will do,” he agreed shortly.  Morrigan turned towards the doorway.  Without conscious thought, he halted her by saying, “One last thing.”_

_“Yes?”_

_An ache, buried deep for his entire life, suddenly sprang free and left him nearly winded in its wake and feeling rather vulnerable in that moment.  “Tell him or her …”  He paused, searching for words.  “Do not let the child think I did not want it.”  He watched as Morrigan’s eyes widened in surprise.  “Please,” he added, more desperation escaping in his tone than intended.  He wasn’t about to come out and tell her why this was important to him, but he also suspected she didn’t need him to.  They’d been on this journey together for over a year now.  She knew more about him than most.  For that matter, she’d probably figured it out months ago, well before he had._

_“I had not intended to tell him of his father at all,” she admitted, causing Alistair to wince, “but if he does ask, as, I suppose, most children are wont to of an age, I will let him know.”_

_She turned then and left the room, leaving Alistair to his thoughts and a whispered, “Thank you,” drifting in the air around him._

“Alistair.”

The sound of Wynne’s voice broke him from the memories and Alistair jumped to his feet with a gasp.  Beside him, Constant also bounded up to his feet.  “Wynne!”

Beside the mage, Nathaniel stood leaning heavily against the door frame.  The rogue didn’t appear much better than he had when he first arrived, but save for a few cuts and scratches on his face, his wounds had been bandaged and one of his arms was in a sling.  Glancing between them, Alistair asked, “How is she?”

“Wynne says she will survive,” Nathaniel rasped.  “Somehow, some way and despite what Riordan told us, we both have.”

“Well,” Wynne replied gently but firmly, “I for one will not look askance at such things.  I consider it a gift from the Maker.  Besides, the Grey Wardens will need you both for the recovery process.”

Alistair glanced over at Wynne, ignoring the subtle, underlying question for now.  He had things to explain, and he would, but this was hardly the proper time or place for such discussions.  Or audience.  Next to him, Constant barked a question.  The mage, Alistair saw, smiled.  “She is resting quietly,” Wynne announced, “and it may be some time before she is fully back to herself, but yes, she will recover.”

“Thank the Maker!” Alistair breathed.  “May we go and see her?”

Wynne nodded.  “As long as you promise to take him,” she nodded in Nathaniel’s direction, “back to lie down as well, I will allow the two of you for now.  While you sit with her, I will go and inform Fergus and the others of her status.”

Alistair moved to Nathaniel’s side, sliding the injured man’s good arm over his shoulders.  Walking slowly, he guided him down the aisle and back to the empty bedding beside Bryallyn.  “You know what happened,” Nathaniel murmured when they were about two-thirds of the way there.  “Don’t you?”

Alistair chewed on his lip.  “I do,” he admitted.  It wasn’t in him to lie at the best of times, least of all to a fellow Warden.  “But we can discuss it later … in private.  For now, just know that you both were meant to survive and leave it at that.”

Easing down onto the palette beside his wife, Nathaniel let the king’s comments go for the moment.  He was right -- here wasn’t the place for such discussions -- but Nathaniel suspected that whatever happened, it wasn’t something that he or Bryallyn would like.

 


	114. Time Heals All

The arrival of the royal messenger indicating that the battle was over and the archdemon defeated was a relief to Delilah and the rest.  The promise of a military escort back to the capital city was to be expected, but along with it came the beginnings of a tale that Delilah suspected would take a long while to tell in full.  Each soldier had their own viewpoint of what had happened, though it seemed to her to a one of them all had served on the outer fringes of the battle.  Whenever she asked questions regarding the status of her brother or Bryallyn or the king himself, all she received in return were vague reassurances.  No one had actually witnessed how the battle concluded.  At most, she was able to discover that it was her brother and Bryallyn who had gone after the archdemon, tracking it through the city and eventually to the rooftop of Fort Drakon.  Alistair, it seemed, had remained guarding the city gates.

Losing herself in the the distraction of coordinating their return, once they were on the road and headed back towards the capital, Delilah found herself amazed that the landscape between Denerim and their camp could change so drastically in just a few short days.  The devastation brought on by the Blight -- the Taint that had been taking control of the entire countryside -- almost appeared to be retreating now that the battle was over.  There was still damage, that was obvious by the state of the trees and flowers and grass as well as the absence of wildlife, but the utter state of oppression that had been hovering over the land during those days leading up to the battle was no longer present.  It was almost as if the death of the archdemon had convinced the Taint that resistance was futile, thus sending it fleeing back to the Deep Roads.

Delilah snorted softly, chiding herself for such fanciful thoughts.  It wasn’t that simple.  She knew that.  Everyone knew that.  But yet, that was how it felt.

They returned to Denerim as they had come -- through the front gates and in a long procession -- five days after departing their camp site.  The journey back home had taken longer due to additional difficulties because of the devastation, but they arrived more or less intact.  Their caravan slowed in the courtyard outside the palace where Delilah quickly scampered down from her seat to the ground below almost before her cart came to a halt.  She spotted Nathaniel and Bryallyn immediately, and her reaction was in no small part due to relief.  First, she hugged her brother, careful of his obvious injuries but holding as tight as she dared.  “What’s this I hear about you being a Warden now?” she hissed in his ear as he released her.

Nathaniel smiled and pressed a light kiss to her temple.  If his grasp on her was a little tighter than usual, she wasn’t complaining.  “I will explain later,” he told her.  “For now, all you need know is that I helped to end this Blight and we are safe.”

The greeting between her and Bryallyn was much the same.  Ceila and Chelle joined her soon after at which point Delilah reached for her nephew.  Smiling, she handed the child over to Bryallyn.  “While he has been a joy to watch and care for,” she teased with an easy smile even as Bryce cooed and reached towards his mother, “I believe your son would prefer to be with his mama just now.”

Bryallyn sniffed back a few tears, but gladly took him into her arms.  Nathaniel stepped closer as well, wrapping an arm around them both.  “Thank you, Del,” Bryallyn whispered.  

Delilah heard the arrival of footsteps to her right, but it wasn’t until a familiar voice asked quietly, “All is well, I take it?” that she realized who it was.  

Turning, her eyes met the king’s, her smile widened at the sight of him.  She noted a few new marks upon his face and she thought she saw concern behind his eyes, but he too was smiling.  When he stretched a hand out towards her, she gladly took it in hers.  “Very well, your Majesty,” she replied loud enough for everyone in the area to hear.  When he tugged on her hand, pulling her close to him, she asked quietly and only for his ears, “Is it truly over?”  The state of the city itself hadn’t been missed as the caravan traveled throughout the city, and it left her feeling heartsick at the thought of what everyone would have to go through before the situation improved and recovery began.

He wrapped his arms around her, and Delilah breathed a soft sigh at his touch.  “For us it is just the beginning,” he murmured teasingly.  Then with a chuckle, he added, “But if you mean the archdemon and the Blight, then yes, it is truly over.  Bryallyn and your brother finished the task set before us.”

Delilah couldn’t hide the heat that darkened her cheeks, but she managed to meet his gaze again, nodding her approval of the first while replying, “That’s my brother for you.  Always in the thick of things.”

Alistair stood beside her for a long moment and stared out at the group who had returned with her.  “Looks as if you’ve picked up some stragglers along the way,” he murmured.

The blush staining her cheeks darkened, but Delilah nodded.  “The rest of my group from the Wending Wood found us,” she explained.  Biting her lower lip, she met his gaze, searching for his reaction within.  “I hope you don’t mind?”

Alistair reached out and grasped her hand quickly.  Squeezing gently but firmly, he assured her, “Of course I don’t!  I’m glad they are safe -- I know it worried you to leave them there.”

Delilah sighed softly, relief washing over her.  “Some are scouting around outside the city at the moment,” she explained, “looking for a good place to make camp.  We won’t take up too much room, I promise.”

“There will be plenty of room for everyone,” he replied.  “The city took a beating, there’s no denying that, but we will find a way to rebuild.  Hopefully, things will start getting back to normal quickly.  What’s that old saying?  Time heals all?”

Delilah nodded, a full fledged smile curving at her lips.  It hadn’t escaped her notice that he had yet to release her hand.   _Not_ that she wanted him to do so anytime soon.  “That is what they say,” she agreed.

“Then we’ll make certain to prove they are correct.”

 

~ n ~

 

Delilah wandered aimlessly through the relatively undamaged halls of the inner portion of the palace.  This area, the Landsmeet hall, several of the lesser chambers and offices and, by a stroke of luck, the royal and guest apartments had survived the battle mostly intact.  She was still trying to figure just how that could have happened, having heard the stories from her brother, Bryallyn and Alistair, among others, but so far was not having much luck wrapping her head around it.  Still, she wasn’t complaining.  And along with a few other nobles’ estates and some other areas, eventually room was made for everyone still remaining within the city limits to have housing for the foreseeable future.

In the days following her return, Delilah made it a point to start reaching out to people.  As king, Alistair was incredibly busy and despite the fact that the rare opportunities they spent together he made certain she was his central focus, she didn’t want to be seen as someone pulling him from his duties.  Instead, she found ways to become involved in what she hoped he would see as supportive efforts on her part, and reached out to the community as a whole.  

First off, she and her dalish made a visit to the alienage.  Shianni met with her, telling her their story of the battle and how Bryallyn and her companions had helped save them.  It had been a close call, one they had no desire to ever repeat, but they’d come out of it with a better sense of self and their own abilities as well as a newfound, if still slightly awkward, alliance between the city elves and the king, and more specifically the Grey Wardens.  Time and patience would work the rest.

The needs of the Chantry were another area Delilah sought to assist.  With their return came the return of the Maker’s ministers, and though most of their Chantrys and chapels in the city were destroyed, space was found for those who wished it.  Many of the lay sisters and lay brothers also assisted with the infirmary, helping the few mages on hand in the care for the wounded and sick.  A tentative peace between Templars and mages was established for the duration, leaving usual tensions outside for the time being.

Slipping quietly through the parted doors, Delilah entered the royal library.  It, too, had suffered relatively little from the recent fighting.  A few braziers scattered throughout the room provided lighting.  In a far corner, Delilah noted that the usual daily hubbub due to Alistair establishing a temporary office here had subsided and she found herself left in peace.  Crossing the room, she casually searched the shelves for a book that might catch her attention, though she had no subject matter in particular in mind.

At some point, Delilah was not certain just how long she’d been here, she heard booted steps enter the room behind her.  “Del.”

Turning, she smiled over at her brother.  Welcoming him with a warm hug, she asked, “How are you?”

He shrugged a bit gingerly, but his arm was no longer strapped into place and all other bandages had been removed.  “As well as can be expected,” he replied.  “I thought I’d seen you in the halls.”

Her smile was dry.  “I feel at lost ends,” she admitted.

“I hear you’ve been helping around the city,” Nathaniel countered.  “Why would you feel that way?”

Sighing, she dropped into a nearby chair.  “I don’t know.  I …”  She darted a quick look up at him.  “Is it wrong to think I’m not doing much?  That I need to find other ways to help?”

Nathaniel blinked, startled.  Taking a knee beside her, he asked, “Why would you think that?”

She inhaled deeply, opening her mouth to reply but catching herself before she actually spoke.  Shaking her head, she dropped her gaze from his.  “I --”

Nathaniel reached over, placing his hand over hers and squeezing firmly.  “You are a leader, Delilah,” he said quietly.  “You are used to making decisions, to guiding those around you.  Look what you did up in the Wending Wood.  Against Father.  Against Thomas.”

“You give me more credit than I deserve, brother,” she murmured in argument.  “I was leader because I was noble, it was nothing more than that.”

“On the contrary,” he replied, “I hear you were the one to organize them, to establish a place where they could feel safe.  You made the choices -- both easy and difficult -- that helped them find their place.  That is hardly nothing.”

“I agree.”

Delilah jumped in her seat, but watching her brother’s face reassured her.  That plus the fact she recognized Alistair’s voice.  

The king walked over to join them and Nathaniel rose to his feet, moving aside so that Alistair could kneel before her.  “Has something happened I should be made aware of?” he asked quietly.

Delilah’s eyes widened at the subtle suggestion.  “What?  Oh, no!  Nothing like that!” she returned quickly.  “I guess I just …”  She sighed, a half smile curving at her lips.  “I guess I don’t really know what I should be doing.  I want to help -- I’ve tried to -- but Denerim has more people than the _Wending Wild_ , and --”

Reaching out, Alistair grasped her hand in his.  “You help me a good deal more than you probably realize,” he told her honestly.  “I’d already thought of approaching Shianni in the alienage, trying to figure out how best to help them in the recovery process, but when I sent a message over, do you know what I got in return?”

Delilah winced, hoping the brash little city elf had still been in a good mood at the time.  She’d been personal witness to Shianni’s temper a time or two.  “Dare I ask?”

Chuckling, he squeezed her hand gently.  “I received a message stating that while they appreciated the contact, they already had someone in place with whom they’d placed their trust and if and when royal assistance or intervention was required, they would use them as liaison.”

Delilah blinked.  “Wait … what?”

Grinning this time, Alistair nodded.  “You heard me.  You, apparently, made a very good impression on them.  They won’t talk to me directly, but they _will_ talk to you.”  He drew her hand to press a light kiss to her knuckles.  “That’s hardly nothing, as your brother said.”

“And the Grand Cleric approached me the other day to compliment me on my sister’s …”  Nathaniel tilted his head as he considered.  “How did she phrase it?  My sister’s _natural ability to identify what needs doing and finding ways to see that they are met_.”  He nodded when she turned towards him.  “I’d say we come from good blood, but you and I know the truth of that,” he concluded honestly.

Delilah snorted softly.  It was on the tip of her tongue to make some sort of dry, glib comment regarding that, but instead, she told him, “I met someone today, Nate.  Someone who knew Thomas.”  She sought out his gaze, sadness, despite everything that had passed, filling her eyes.  “Someone who was fighting near him when he was killed during the battle here.”

Nathaniel did not appear shocked or surprised at all, and Delilah heard Alistair murmur softly while squeezing her hand.  “Thomas made his own choices,” Nathaniel finally muttered.  “He had to know what the consequences would be.”

She nodded.  “But at the end, he was on our side at least?”

“Perhaps.”  Nathaniel straightened, turning to exit the room without another word.  

“That’s … odd,” Alistair told her, staring after Nathaniel’s retreating form.

“What is?”

“Your brother left us alone.”

Delilah smiled, turning her hand in his.  “He is more affected by the loss of Thomas than he wants to admit,” she said.  “And I think he’s beginning to like you.  I’ve no doubt Bryallyn has counseled him he could trust you.”

Alistair looked back at her, a lopsided grin curving upwards even as a hint of pink crept into his cheeks.  “Let’s hope so,” he agreed.  Pushing himself to his feet, he asked, “Would you like to go for a walk?  My meetings are over for the day and I find I would much prefer your company over that of my bodyguard contingent or my advisors at the moment.”

Chuckling softly, Delilah allowed him to help her up.  She snaked her arm around his, allowing him to lead her out of the library.  “I think I would like that.”

“Good.  Oh,” he added, pulling the door open for her before following her through, “and for future reference, I give you permission to act on my behalf like you have with the Chantry and the alienage.  If you see something or someone that needs help, please feel free to intervene.  I can only be so many places at once and I really would like to get as many people behind this as we can so we can start healing after the past year or so of chaos.”  

Nodding, Delilah’s smile widened and she could feel the heat building in her face.  “Thank you,” she replied immediately.  “I will let you know of any others I come across.”

He leaned down towards her, murmuring near her ear, “We make a good team, you know.”

Delilah giggled softly and only nodded.  He wouldn’t get any argument from her to that end of things.

 


	115. Full Circle

Bryallyn stood silently, eyes watching intently throughout the ceremony as Alistair was officially crowned king.  The pomp and ceremony involved she knew bothered him -- he’d told her as much over the days and weeks leading up to this -- but as she’d pointed out, they each had their role to play.  It was something she and Fergus had long ago accepted while growing up in the Cousland household.   _Duty before all else_.  They weren’t just words to be said, but a way of life.  Deep down, Bryallyn had no doubts that Alistair could and would do the same.  He’d done a splendid job leading the troops through the battle in Denerim, he could extend that beyond to leading the country.  And now, perhaps, he understood better than most would give him credit for, just how important it was for him to accept this mantle and help Ferelden rebuild.  

“His presence in some ways is more assured than Cailan’s ever was,” a deep voice murmured near her ear.

Bryallyn’s lips curved into a smile.  “It’s taken time,” she assured her husband, “but I agree.  He will be a good king.”

Nathaniel slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her against him as they continued to watch.  “And his concerns about leaving the Wardens?”

Sighing softly, she shook her head.  “You and I both know just as he does that there is no real way to ‘leave the Wardens,’” she replied.  “But aside from that, I suspect he will remain in touch.  Giving the arling to the Wardens assured him of future association, no matter who the Warden Commander there might be.”

Nathaniel grunted softly.  “True, but doesn’t that go against all the Wardens claim to stand for?  Remaining out of politics, I mean.”

Bryallyn glanced up at him, brow lifting with incredulity.  “Clearly, you haven’t heard the rumors coming out of the Anderfels,” she told him.

Their conversation was disrupted briefly as the gathered crowd began to applaud while the newly crowned king descended the stairs.  Around her, Bryallyn noted varying levels of enthusiasm, but as far as she could tell everyone present was in clear support of him as claimant to the throne.  On the far side of the room, she spotted her brother and Kayt.  Her smile widened when she noted Trinion and his men standing nearby and on guard.  It was the closest she would likely get to anything resembling past memories of visits to the royal palace, but it was comforting nonetheless.

Alistair walked down the aisle in the center of the room, pausing to talk with those gathered along the way.  One of his first stops was to greet those who remained of his and Bryallyn’s traveling company.  Morrigan was not present, having departed at some point during the battle from what Bryallyn understood, but Wynne, Zevran, Leliana and Sten were there.  Oghren was around too -- Bryallyn had heard his familiar brash chuckle several times during the proceedings -- but she suspected he was being kept in the back of the room to avoid any open disruption to the ceremony.  

Rhyan and her men were near the others, stepping forward when the king approached and greeting him with due respect and formality and as representative of the Free Marches.  Nathaniel had told his wife stories of his training with the young woman and Bryallyn hoped that she would be able to return and claim her family’s lands in the Free Marches now that her business here was complete.  It would not heal all wounds, unfortunately, but hopefully assisting in ending the Blight and helping to defeat the archdemon should go a long way to that end of things.  She seemed satisfied enough with the results, anyway.  Still, if necessary -- and Bryallyn had emphasized this to Rhyan very plainly -- if there was any difficulty in making her claim whatsoever, she was to call upon Bryallyn or Fergus for assistance.  Warden ties notwithstanding, Bryallyn was prepared to lend whatever support she could to repay her for her invaluable assistance over the past year or so.

“Ah, _there_ you are!”

Chuckling softly, Bryallyn dipped into a slight curtsey as Alistair reached her and Nathaniel.  “Your Majesty,” she greeted him.

Alistair leaned in towards her, taking her hands in his and all but begging, “Please, _don’t_!  I get enough of that as it is and you know it!”

“We have had this discussion, Alistair,” she reminded him while glancing up to find her husband attempting to suppress his own laughter.  She thought he was doing a rather poor job of it, truth be told.  

“I know, I know, but humor me for just a moment, please?  A coronation ‘gift’ if you will?”  

Bryallyn noticed a twinkle in his eyes as he spoke and suddenly realized quite clearly he was up to something.  “How so?” she countered.

“Well, seeing as you stopped the Blight and saved the country and all, and you are now considered to be the _Hero of Ferelden_ \--”

Bryallyn’s eyes widened.  “Oh, you didn’t!” she gasped, hand rising to cover her lips.

“Actually,” he assured her, “It wasn’t my decision.  You know how Leliana gets once she fancies an idea …”

“But, _Hero of Ferelden_?”  Bryallyn couldn’t suppress a small shudder.  “Maker, I’m going to have people singing songs about me someday, aren’t I?”

Nathaniel coughed over a laugh.  “You clearly haven’t been to any taverns of late, have you, wife?”

As Bryallyn groaned, Alistair joined in with Nathaniel  “He’s right, you know, and I’m nearly certain Leliana is responsible for at least one of them, maybe two.”

“Andraste preserve me!”

“Oh,” he continued on pleasantly enough despite her plea, “and then there’s this small parade they’ve arranged and --”

Bryallyn thought she might faint.  “Parade?  Alistair, you are joking, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid he isn’t, love,” Nathaniel said.  “Trinion mentioned something about wanting to walk alongside you to guarantee your safety.”

Alistair chuckled again.  “Somebody should instruct him about Wardens,” he offered mildly.

Bryallyn’s eyes darted up to the king’s.  “Please tell me you will be there too!”

“Sadly, I can’t,” he replied with honest apology.  “Apparently, as king my time will now be focused on such things as meeting with foreign and domestic dignitaries and such.”  He sighed, eyes rolling a little.  “I’ve been told that means Teagan has already arranged meetings for me for this afternoon, otherwise I’d gladly use it as a means of escaping the palace.”

Bryallyn glanced down the aisle, spotting Teagan speaking with her brother for the moment.  As if sensing her scrutiny, he looked over at her … and smiled.  “Of course he has,” she muttered.

“I will go with you if you like,” Nathaniel offered.  

“Your life,” Bryallyn threatened, “might depend upon it, husband!”

“Hah!  Well, at least you can’t be saying such things to me anymore,” Alistair chortled.

Bryallyn leveled a steady glare at him.  “You may be king,” she murmured, “but I _am_ your Warden Commander, remember?”

The threat, as intended, fell very short as Alistair snorted.  “You know good and well we never would have done half as well had I been leading.”

Sighing, Bryallyn gradually accepted that she was going to have to accept _her_ role from here forward.  “Yes, yes, I know … and we would all be wearing skirts …”

“Because we lost our pants,” Alistair concluded with a sage nod.  “Right.  I think that is probably my cue to move on then.”

Bryallyn’s hand shot out, catching hold of Alistair’s forearm before he could leave.  “Alistair,” she told him in her most sincere tone, “please don’t think --”

He paused, reaching over to cover her hand with his and squeezing gently.  “I don’t,” he replied honestly.  “You know, I’m even beginning to think this was … oh, I don’t know, meant to be?  And I won’t be alone.  I get that.  And who knows, maybe one of these days we’ll actually be related.”  He winked over at Nathaniel.  The gesture shocked the rogue, Bryallyn noticed, enough so that his features deepened into a scowl almost immediately after.  “That would guarantee I could escape up to Vigil’s Keep anytime I wanted to, you know, visit family?”

Bryallyn grinned.  “You would always be welcome, and you know that.”

“Good to know.”

With that, the king moved on and Bryallyn turned back to her husband.  “What?” she asked, noting that his scowl did not fade with the king’s departure.  “Don’t tell me you don’t want him and Delilah to find happiness together!”

“The thought of my sister,” he began, but allowed his voice to trail off because in all honesty, he did want his sister to find her own happiness.  And it wasn’t as if he disliked Alistair at all, either.

Chuckling, Bryallyn nudged him in the direction of the main doors.  “I suppose we ought to go and get this parade over with, don’t you?”

Nathaniel nodded and they departed the chamber together.  

Hours later, they returned to their rooms at the palace, falling into a tumbled heap of limbs onto the bed.  “Well, _that_ was interesting,” Bryallyn mused while snuggling close to Nathaniel.  She was nearly exhausted, and finding a comfortable spot for her head upon his shoulder went a long way to helping her relax.

Chuckling, Nathaniel pulled her closer.  The room was dark, just the hint of firelight from the hearth giving him light enough to see her by.  “I will admit it had its moments,” he agreed.  “I hadn’t realized just how many people we’d touched with our efforts by ending the Blight.”

Bryallyn sighed, nodding against him.  “I know.  It was good to see them, though.  Even if we couldn’t stop to talk.”  Though she hadn’t recognized faces so much as groups, Bryallyn had been pleased to see representatives from all their allies during the Blight as well as many of the civilians who’d been in Denerim.  Thankfully, it appeared most of their allies had survived the battle.  The mages had taken the worst hit, but they had also been the smallest contingent.  Still, a few survived and Bryallyn was certain they would have stories to take back to the Circle with them.

Stretching out her left arm, Bryallyn’s gaze was caught by a soft glow emanating from the ring on her finger.  The marriage ring Nathaniel had given to her on their trip together after the wedding.  “Look,” she murmured, wiggling her finger so he could see it.  

Nathaniel’s gaze drifted over, caught sight of her hand and automatically glanced down to his matching ring to find his was doing the same.  Lifting it between them so she could see, he told her, “I know we haven’t spoken much regarding what happened while we were apart, but did you ever notice it doing this before?”

Smiling, she brought her hand close to his.  The brightness emanating from the two rings next to one another added a pale halo to the immediate area making it easier to see her husband’s face in the dimly lit room.  “Do you remember that time, in the Fade?” she asked.  “You insisted we were dreaming, but the rings … ?”

“We were together and yet it wasn’t in a world of our making,” he recalled, “but the rings seemed to … draw us together.”

She nodded.  “After I realized that …”  She sighed and snuggled closer to him, arms tightening around him in the process.  “I’d thought you dead to that point,” she whispered past a tightness in her throat, “but after that I knew you lived.”

Lifting a hand, Nathaniel tilted her head upwards slightly and combed her hair back from her face with his fingers.  “As did I,” he assured her.  “We heard about the events in Highever when we went there on our return to Ferelden.  So many there didn’t know if you’d survived, and all I knew for certain were the fates of your parents, Oriana and Oren.”

“I missed you so much,” she whispered, hand rising to trace the planes of his cheeks with the tips of her fingers, “and I had so much I needed to tell you then.  The first time we met in the Fade, I thought I was dreaming you because of it.”  

“The first time we met,” he murmured, grasping her hand so he could kiss her fingers, “I assumed my dreams were telling me of your fate.”  A strong tremor rippled across his shoulders.  “It was the stuff of nightmares.”

“I know.”  She pulled her hand lower to caress his shoulders in reassurance.  “I wish we had realized sooner.  It would have eased both our minds, I think.”

Nathaniel gently nuzzled a path down the side of her cheek until he could place a kiss on her lips.  “From here forward, it will.”

 


	116. The Road That Lies Before Us

 

_It’s amazing what you can get used to as king_ , Alistair thought mildly, striding through the halls of the palace.  His destination was the library -- at least, he thought so.  Now that he’d moved out to a larger, more accessible accommodations, it had become Bryallyn’s impromptu headquarters for the Grey Wardens in Denerim during the reconstruction period.  Like most of the rest of the Market District, the previous Warden headquarters was destroyed during the final battle against the archdemon.  And, seeing how he was still a Warden even though he was now king, he could justify giving the two other Wardens access.  It also helped that he was courting the sister of one of them.  Alistair unconsciously swallowed hard.   _At least, I hope it helps!_  

Over the days and weeks and months since the end of that final battle and the destruction of the archdemon and end of the Fifth Blight, things were slowly beginning to improve.  The city itself was rebuilding, thanks to the guidance and assistance from those nobles who had survived.  Fergus Cousland, Teyrn of Highever, was proving to be an exceptional help on that end of things.  Teagan, Eamon, and many others who had supported Alistair’s claim to the throne were now stepping up as well.  Alfstanna Eremon had been promoted to the Arling of Denerim, a choice both Fergus and Teagan approved wholeheartedly when Alistair first suggested it.  The teyrnir of Gwaren was still proving a tricky challenge, but as Fergus told him, it was best to leave it empty until they could find someone who the people there and the rest of the nobles could support in the position.  No decision was better than a poor one in a situation such as this.  

Another area that had been tricky was in finding and setting up delivery of supplies that would be needed during the reconstruction period.  Even though there was agreement among the nobles that Denerim should have priority since it was the seat of power, that didn’t derail attempts by others at grabbing any and all available.  It had been a tricky situation and one that could have devolved into yet further civil war in the country, especially when considering the lack of available resources remaining in a country so devastated by the Taint, but Leliana, in one of her last suggestions before parting from their company, counseled they utilize the Warden treaties once again.  Surprisingly, it had worked.  At first they looked to what could be found at home.  Masons and stone from Orzammar.  Trees that had survived the Blight untainted from the Brecilian Forest.  Healers and others skilled in medicinal magic from the Circle to assist with the many injured.  For the most part, at least so far, they’d been able to rely upon Ferelden.  Only when necessary had Alistair sought assistance from beyond their borders, uncertain at what sort of reception they might find after Loghain’s tenure at the helm.  Surprisingly, at least to the new king, there was a willingness to assist.  Alistair occasionally found himself wondering if some of his brethren from beyond Ferelden might have guided those efforts, but he found any evidence one way or another and, in the end, decided it wasn’t worth the extra effort to find out.  He was thankful enough for the support he did receive.

Step by step, day by day, things were improving.  The palace restored enough to house the king and many of the nobles who had lost their estates.  The Landsmeet hall where they could meet with dignitaries sent from countries afar and, as a result, treaties and alliances made which in turn helped widen the availability of resources.  The creation of temporary housing for civilians and barracks for the troops as well.  The challenges were still there, and some of them sneakier than others, but for the most part things were moving forward.

But along with improvement also came the time to part ways with friends he’d come to rely upon, and it bothered Alistair that he wanted to avoid that.  Particularly when it came to Bryallyn, Nathaniel and the Wardens in Ferelden.  All three were in agreement, of course, that the Order needed to be rebuilt.  That had been Duncan’s intention all along, and it must continue.  They had a permanent home now, in Amaranthine, and word had been received that it was ready for the Wardens to move in.  Of course, with only three left in Ferelden, reinforcements from outside the country would be necessary.  Bryallyn and Alistair both agreed there was still the possibility for elements of the Blight -- darkspawn or worse -- to remain and they should be prepared just in case.

It was this issue driving his direction through the halls of the palace at the moment.  Alistair arrived at the library to find two guards on duty just outside the door.  He recognized them by their uniforms -- city guards, both -- and knew them to be on temporary loan to Bryallyn during her stay.  Nodding at them, one turned and opened the door for him.  Alistair entered without hesitation and only the slightest bit of guilt eating at him.   _I’m getting too used to this too quickly._

“So, when do you think?” Nathaniel was asking on the far side of the room.  “Next week?  The week after?”

Standing at the table in the center of the room and covered with a detailed map of Ferelden for their purposes, Bryallyn stared down at the display.  Alistair observed as her fingers lightly touched the top of the representation of Vigil’s Keep, the ancestral home of the Howes that now belonged to the Wardens.  “I think we need to wait until we have sufficient Wardens on hand --”

Alistair grimaced, taking that as his cue.  Crossing the room and coming to a halt across the table from her, he said by way of greeting while handing the message in his hand across to her, “Then I think you need wait no longer. Warden Commander Nicholas in Val Royeaux agreed to our request for assistance.  Two dozen Wardens will be arriving on temporary loan in a week or so to assist you with the rebuilding of the Order.  He says they’re well prepared to get the keep into ‘appropriate working Warden order’ for us and you are to take what time you need to finish your duties here.”

Bryallyn looked up as she took the note, meeting his gaze briefly and Alistair thought he detected just the slightest hint of disappointment.  Could it be that she wasn’t wanting the separation as well?  For over a year now they’d been side by side, making decisions that affected the Order.  It would be difficult to let that go.  Then again, it was Nathaniel’s ancestral home.  Perhaps her reluctance stemmed from a return there after what happened to her family.  He could understand that easily enough.  Her eyes dropped and she read it quickly before handing it over to her husband.  “Then I guess we should prepare to leave.”

“The last message we received from Varel at Vigil’s Keep suggested they had a couple of candidates for the Wardens, too,” Nathaniel reminded her.  “Our numbers should be good.”

Alistair nodded.  “That would be approaching the numbers Duncan had at Ostagar,” he added.  “It’s a good start.”

Sighing, Bryallyn straightened.  “A start, yes,” she agreed, “but far from where we need to be.”  The Blight might be over, but there were still reports coming in of darkspawn sightings.  Sightings and, if reports were accurate, unusual actions that were worrying.

Alistair watched as Nathaniel reached out and squeezed his wife’s shoulder in reassurance.  “It is more than we would have otherwise,” he pointed out, “and that gives us a better chance at success.”

Alistair tilted his head slightly to the right, murmuring, “I don’t remember you having such doubts during the Blight.”

Bryallyn’s cheeks pinkened slightly, but she held his gaze.  “I had too many things to worry about then,” she reminded him.  “Now it’s all focused on the Wardens and our survival.  And besides, I had you to lean on back then, if you remember.”

“I will still be here,” he promised, “and you will have Nathaniel, too.  You aren’t in this alone.”

“Hmm.”  She reached across the table and pulled a sheet of parchment from beneath a rock that had been keeping it in place.  “I also have this,” she added.  “A message from Weisshaupt.”

Startled, Alistair took it from her and read.  “Ah.”  His eyes stopped on one sentence near the middle of the first paragraph.  One asking in no uncertain terms just how both she and Nathaniel had survived when the Grey Warden responsible for killing the archdemon should have died along with it.   _How can we be certain that the Blight has truly ended when ..._

“Ah?  Do you know something about this, Alistair?”

Alistair kept his eyes on the page, but he could feel heat rushing up his neck to his cheeks at the question.  Lifting a hand to his neck, he rubbed awkwardly just beneath the collar of his tunic.  “I … maybe?” he hedged.  Finally daring to look over at her, he gave her one of his lopsided grins.  “Let’s just say that the less you know the easier it will be for you to tell the First Warden you have no idea what happened and leave it at that, shall we?”  After all, that _had_ been Morrigan’s final piece of advice that evening before they parted ways.  Funnily enough, he had no trouble accepting it and using it as an excuse.

Bryallyn’s gaze narrowed.  “Alistair, what happened?”

Alistair shifted his feet and he gave Nathaniel a pleading look.  Though there was question there as well, the rogue stepped over to his wife, his hand sliding around her waist.  “Love, we have so many other things to worry about,” he told her quietly.  “Perhaps it would be better to let this one be for now.”

She sighed again and leaned heavily against her husband for a moment.  “I am not looking forward to speaking with the First Warden,” she mumbled a moment later.

Chewing on his lower lip, Alistair replied, “If it gets as bad as all that, I will speak to him on your behalf.  Actually, truth be told, I’m a little surprised he didn’t contact me first.  It isn’t exactly a hidden fact that I was one of the Wardens who helped end the Blight.”

Bryallyn chuckled softly.  “I think that might have more to do with how things look than anything,” she told him.  “Wardens aren’t supposed to be involved in local politics, remember?”

Alistair snorted.  “They _say_ that, but you and I have both heard some of those rumors coming out of the Anderfels.”

“‘Do as I say, not as I do,’” Nathaniel murmured.  “I’ve heard that in any number of households as I trained over the years.  My father’s, Arl Bryland, even Lord Antell in the Free Marches.  The Orlesians call it the _Grand Game_ , but they are not alone in playing it.”

“I wish Leliana was still here,” Bryallyn said.  “Despite not being a Warden, her advice would be appreciated right about now.”

“Stall him,” Alistair suggested.  “Your primary concern should be rebuilding the Order in Ferelden, correct?”  She nodded.  “Then focus on that. Prioritize.  Worry about him once there no longer is anything else to worry about.”

It took a long moment before she laughed again, but when she did Alistair knew he’d gotten through.  “No longer anything else to worry about?” she echoed in wry amusement.  

Alistair nodded, his smile widening.  “See?  It’s that simple.”

Bryallyn was wheezing a little by the time she recovered herself, but the laughter appeared to have done her some good.  “Somehow I doubt it’s ‘simple,’” she responded, “but I will grant you, his concerns aren’t exactly at the top of my list.”

“I know you were wanting to go visit your brother at Highever,” Alistair continued.  “Will you do that before heading to Amaranthine?”

Bryallyn pulled her lip between her teeth, chewing on the corner.  “I think so,” she finally decided, eyes darting up to Nathaniel who nodded his own agreement.  “I need to see Highever before it’s rebuilt,” she added tightly.  “I need to see what he did.”  Nathaniel squeezed his hand on her shoulder again and she relaxed a little.  “ _We_ need to,” she corrected.  “Certain ghosts need to be put to rest.”

“I won’t say I’m sorry to see you leave,” Alistair told them both, “because I think you both know I will be.  And I’ve no doubt Delilah will miss you, too.”

Nathaniel chuckled,a wry smile curving at his lips.  “That will definitely guarantee we see each other again soon and often,” he told him.  

Alistair nodded, grinning back at him.  “Well, as she put it, ‘We are all family now and after what we have just gone through we need to stay in touch.’”  His eyes dropped to the ring he now wore on his left hand, one similar to the style Nathaniel had found years before for himself and Bryallyn.  Marriage was still somewhat of a foreign concept to him, but it was one he was enjoying and, it seemed, so was his wife.  “We won’t visit too often, I promise.  We all have our own duties to attend.  But just remember if you need us we will be ready to head your way when called ....”

 

**_FINIS_ **

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I want to thank all my readers who stayed with this story throughout the seven -- 7! -- years it took to complete.  It’s been a long road and at times a difficult journey, but I am quite satisfied with Bryallyn’s story as it’s been told.
> 
> That said, as you no doubt have guessed, it is not finished!  There is plenty more to tell!  As of right now, I intend to follow this up with three separate sequels.  “The Fox and the Hound,”  “Constant Vigil,” and “Splitting Heirs.”  I know for a fact “The Fox and the Hound” will be the first to follow, but after that I’m not sure.  I believe the order will be as set above, but that could change.  Also, I will be writing them separately, not at the same time.  So be on the lookout!
> 
> HUGE thanks to the many betas I’ve had over the years of this story, but most of all to Erynnar who stuck with me the entire seven years!  I couldn’t have done it without you, sweetie!  Thanks for challenging me when I was getting too far off base with a plot or character, etc.  Thank you for checking for repetitive phrasing.  But most of all thank you for just listening when I needed an ear instead of a beta.  You are the absolute best and I adore you!
> 
>  


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